


Never Been Any Reason

by Miso



Category: Red Dead Redemption
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Falling In Love, Friends to Lovers, Jealousy, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Relationship(s), kieran deserved better 2k19
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-15
Updated: 2019-03-22
Packaged: 2019-09-18 15:34:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 15
Words: 24,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16997718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miso/pseuds/Miso
Summary: The last place Wyatt Conaway thought he'd end up in his grand adventure out west was in the gang led by the boyhood love he'd set out to find in the first place.





	1. You Wanna Talk? Let's Talk.

**Author's Note:**

> this is very much a WIP!!!! idk how many chapters itll have in the end but i get the feeling this is gonna be a longer one.
> 
> a quick primer on wyatt:
> 
> Wyatt Conaway is the youngest child of the sheriff of Cloud Falls, Indiana, Thomas Conaway. He has red hair, tied into a small ponytail most times, and green eyes, with a scar that trails from his right eyebrow down his cheek. He and Dutch met when Dutch (then known as Bastian, his legal middle name [his first name is Sjars and he got sick of ppl mispronouncing it]) and his mother moved to Cloud Falls when they were both fourteen. At fifteen, about a year later, the two started "dating" in secret, but only lasted a couple of months before they were outed and their paths in life diverged. Wyatt was very deeply in love with Dutch. Dutch, obviously, moved on with his life and eventually 'married' Hosea (no, not legally, but emotionally? VERY married). [In this fic, Molly does not exist, Bessie was never part of the picture, and Annabelle was a very obvious beard.]
> 
> (p.s. remember the tommy that arthur beats the hell out of in valentine? yep, that would be thomas conaway jr. aka tommy aka little tom, wyatt's older brother. dont feel too bad for him. he aint a great dude.)

The last place Wyatt Conaway thought he'd end up in his grand adventure out west was in the gang led by the boyhood love he'd set out to find in the first place.

He left Cloud Falls with dreams of finding Bastian van der Linde, the boy with coffee-brown eyes and hair black as the night sky, with the beauty mark on his cheek that he loved to kiss when they were younger. As the years went on, his life of being an adventurous outdoorsman turned more into the life of a rugged outlaw. His crimes were mostly small-time; stick-up jobs on townsfolk, a couple of robberies, muggings. When he could, he tried to live honest, selling pelts and antlers and teeth of animals he shot for money, but... desperate times called for desperate measures, and as it turned out, not even he could take on a cougar toe-to-toe and win.

When he was aware of his surroundings again, he was on his back on a hard wooden table, surrounded by vague silhouettes of people. A girl with long, brown hair and freckles, a man with thinning white hair and a wide mouth that reminded him of a frog, a man with sandy blonde hair and eyes bluer than the sky. None of them looked familiar.

"He gonna be okay, Herr Strauss?" the girl asked as she brushed a lock of fiery red hair from Wyatt's face, and the white-haired man nodded a little.

"I believe so. He's lucky the damned cat didn't blind him in that right eye."

"Damn fool. You back yet, buddy?" The blonde asked, gently smacking Wyatt on the cheek.

"Nngh. Hell... am I?"

"Good. Dutch said he wanted to talk to you when you were finally alert."

"Arthur, let the poor thing get his bearings for a second." The girl held Wyatt down when he tried to sit up. "Sir? Sir, you're in Horseshoe Overlook, New Hanover. You got attacked by a cougar. Arthur over here found you."

"You're quite lucky to be alive, my friend," Herr Strauss intoned, wiping his hands on a rag. "Going to have quite a story to tell about that scar on your cheek." He turned, walked away for a moment, then returned with a bottle of something. "Health tonic. Drink." He uncorked the bottle and put it to Wyatt's lips. Given little choice, Wyatt downed the bitter liquid, coughing when he finally got it down.

"... Who are you people?" Wyatt asked as the world became a little clearer, sounds easier to discern and faces obvious now. "I..."

"I'm Mary-Beth Gaskill," the girl began, then gestured to the men. "This here's Herr Strauss, and Arthur Morgan. Glad you're more alive, now." She smiled sweetly at Wyatt. "Our leader, Dutch? He wanted to talk to you. He saw Arthur bring you in, and just kind of... went and sat for a while. He only does that when he's thinkin'. Don't worry, he ain't as scary as he looks, he's a pussycat on the inside, I promise."

Well, that wasn't promising. Wyatt hoped his fear wasn't too obvious, and he tried to force a smile. "Well, I'm hopin' he is, the way you're talkin' about him, miss."

"He awake?"

For a moment, Wyatt felt confusion rush over him. He'd heard that voice before- clearer, not as rough and deep, but he'd heard it- and he wondered... no. Couldn't be.

"Think he's about as awake as he's gonna get," Arthur said, and almost immediately, Wyatt's three caretakers vanished. A new figure replaced them, and Wyatt's blood turned to ice for a second.

He knew those eyes. Coffee-brown eyes, hair black as the night. A beauty mark on his left cheekbone, just beneath his eye. "... Bastian," Wyatt breathed, and he tried to sit up, only to be pushed back down onto the table by... Dutch? Wyatt supposed that was what he was going by these days. "Bastian, my god. Been lookin' for you for ages."

"What are you doing here?" Dutch asked. He looked different from the 15 year old boy Wyatt remembered, but he supposed most people would after, what, 20-something years? "I... Wyatt, I thought you stayed-"

"I did. I was gonna. But... I wanted to find you. I... Bastian-"

"It's Dutch now."

"Little on the nose, ain't it?"

"That ain't important. You really been lookin' for me all this time, Wyatt Conaway?"

"... I mean, it started out that way," Wyatt began, "But... guess over the years, it was more 'if I find him, then good, and if I don't, then at least I'm free to live as I like'." He shrugged, looked into Dutch's deep, dark eyes. "... But findin' you feels better than I ever thought it would."

"Wyatt, that's... that's real romantic, and you're welcome to stay with us as long as you want or need to, but... we can't be a thing again. You know that, right?"

"... Why not?"

"Well, for starters, we ain't fifteen anymore. It's... I'm not the same person anymore, and neither are you. Don't pretend different. We ain't kids, and..." Dutch sighed a little. "Secondly, well..." He lifted his left hand into Wyatt's line of sight, and the latter's bright green eyes settled on an ornate, golden ring.

"... You're married?"

"In a sense," Dutch answered. "My husband, he's... territorial. He wouldn't appreciate it much if he caught you tryin' to muscle in on me, and... honestly, Wyatt? I love him. I love him dearly. And I ain't gonna risk what I have with him for anything."

"... Not even me, huh?"

"'Fraid not." Dutch patted Wyatt's shoulder. "I appreciate what we had back then. If I hadn't got caught kissin' you, neither of us would be here right now. But... but times are different now. You can stay, if you want, once you're back on your feet. I understand if you don't wanna."

With that, Dutch took his leave, and Wyatt closed his eyes, sighed heavily, and wondered what the last twenty-odd years of his life had been for. He drifted off, eventually, and when he woke again, he was on a bed roll in a tent, moved there at some point by... someone, he supposed. "You okay?" A quiet voice beside him asked, and Wyatt started to find someone sitting next to him. A young man, maybe in his mid-twenties, with scraggly hair and a scruffy beard, cleaning a saddle cross-legged. "You look like you got dragged through hell."

"I'll live."

"Mmm. Saw you talking to Dutch earlier. He ain't as nasty as he acts, but... he don't really like me, 'cause I was runnin' with the O'Driscolls, so... maybe I ain't really got a good frame of reference." A pause. "I'm Kieran, by the way. I, um... felt sorry for you, layin' on that table. Figured you deserved to be comfy."

"Appreciate that." Wyatt closed his eyes again, hissing as he rolled onto his side. "Just leave me be, kid."

"... Dutch bother you, earlier?"

"In a way. I... it's a long story."

"I got all night," Kieran said, setting the saddle aside. "You're the first person to have a real conversation with me in a long, long time."

Wyatt stared at the tent in silence for a moment, before sighing, shrugging, and turning back over. "Fine. You wanna talk, kid? Let's talk."


	2. Fair Enough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kieran and Wyatt begin bonding, and Wyatt feels things he hasn't in a very long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is the purest ship ive ever shipped. wyatt and kieran are just both useless dumb cowboys that are starved for affection and like ponies more than people. i love my gay sons. (also i couldnt remember if kierans horse was male or female, rip)

Wyatt and Kieran talked for what felt like hours. They clicked almost immediately, Wyatt found, Kieran apparently just genuinely happy to have some company that wasn't threatening him. They told each other their stories, laughed at the funny moments and took pity, listened at the sadder ones.

"So your daddy was a sheriff?" Kieran asked, laying beside Wyatt, hands behind his head. "I don't remember much about my folks. They died when I was real little."

"Yeah, but... my daddy weren't much of a father. He was drunk most of the time." Wyatt snorted. "Heh, 'was'. I ain't got a clue if he's alive or dead. Momma neither, but I imagine she didn't last long once she got the scarlet fever. My sisters, dunno about them, neither. Last I heard, Ruby was havin' a baby. My brother, Tommy, I think he lives in Valentine now."

"Damn... that's a lot. I'm sorry."

"Don't be. Never got along with 'em that well anyway. When you're... me, you're kinda the black sheep, you know? God help my pa if they found out I wanted to screw other guys. The son of a lawman, a flamin'-"

"... That how you know Dutch?"

"... Yeah. When we were fifteen, we were seein' each other for a couple months. He got caught kissin' me by one of the boys from church, and our folks said we could either shape up or ship out. I went back in the closet. He ran off, and I never saw him again. Not 'til earlier, anyway. I knew him when he weren't Dutch. He was a good kid. Smart, made good marks in school, but when he ran off... I didn't know what to do with myself anymore. When I turned eighteen I headed west 'cause I heard talk of a feller by the name of Van der Linde raisin' hell out here, and... well, here we are, twenty-somethin' years later."

"You know," Kieran began, sitting up, "You ain't a bad feller, Wyatt Conaway. You keep actin' like you are but I can see that you ain't." He smiled. "When you're back on your feet we should go fishin'. I'm a real good fisherman. You a good fisherman?"

"Not really. More of a hunter."

"I'll teach ya to fish if you teach me to hunt."

Wyatt pondered the offer for a moment, then smiled. He could tolerate a while in Kieran's presence, he figured. "Fair enough."

\---

It took a few days, but eventually, Strauss and the Reverend cleared Wyatt to resume life as he knew it. Bearing a few impressive new scars and the knowledge that missing a shot on a charging cougar was a very, very bad idea, Wyatt chose to hang around the Van der Linde gang's campsite a while longer. He said he had nowhere else to go- which was true- but really, he wanted to spend a little longer around Kieran. That silly boy was quickly becoming his favorite person in the group. He was genuinely kind and gentle, and had a connection with horses that Wyatt related to immediately. Even their mounts seemed fast friends; Branwen and Denver grazed happily side-by-side most of the time. The palomino pony even seemed to offer Branwen some of his food sometimes, nudging extra hay or a carrot in the roan's direction with his nose.

Kieran made good on his promise to take Wyatt fishing. They sat on the banks of the nearby river, perched atop some boulders in the afternoon sun, in comfortable silence, lures bobbing in the water as they waited for a bite. "... Lots of waitin' around. This is why I never really liked fishin'."

"I know it's kinda dull, but... I don't know. I think it's relaxing." Kieran yanked on his line as he got a bite and began reeling in his catch. "And then when somethin' happens..." he trailed off, his tongue poking out of his mouth a little as he briefly struggled to hang on to the struggling fish before continuing to reel in the line, "... It's one of the most excitin' things in the world."

He pulled the fish out of the water at last, an impressively-sized trout in his hand. Kieran whistled through his teeth and nodded. "Keepin' you, handsome," he said as he tucked the fish into his bag, re-baited his hook, and cast again. Wyatt watched him closely, tried to mimic the skilled movements of Kieran's hands, and tried not to blush when the thought of those skilled hands on him barged into his brain uninvited.

A sudden, hard tug on his line made Wyatt stand from the rock, digging his heels into the ground in an attempt to avoid being dragged into the water. It failed. Kieran couldn't help but laugh as Wyatt was pulled into the river, landing with a splash. "You okay?" he asked, wading in after setting his pole aside to help Wyatt up. "Ain't seen that happen in a long time."

Wyatt spluttered for a moment as Kieran helped him to his feet, pushing wet hair out of his face and trying to tie it back into the tiny ponytail he'd perfected. He failed, and his hair flopped almost miserably around his face instead. "I'm fine. Thanks for laughin', though."

Kieran snickered again, picking up Wyatt's soaked hat and plopping it atop his head. "Think you're gonna need a new hat." His blue-grey eyes sparkled with laughter, and Wyatt wondered if his heart stopped for a moment. _Oh. That's a feeling I haven't felt in a long time,_ he thought as Kieran waded back to shore, Wyatt following close behind.

That night, laying in his tent (shared with Charles and Bill; Hosea had made the concession that Wyatt could have his spot in their lean-to as long as he got to bed down with Dutch), Wyatt stared up at the night sky somewhere between panic and lovesickness. When Kieran smiled at him, laughed like he meant it, took his hand and helped him to his feet, his heart had raced. Raced like it had all those years ago when he first pressed his lips to those of one Bastian van der Linde.

He wasn't sure how to feel about that.


	3. The Answer Is No

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dutch and Wyatt have a little chat. It goes as well as you might expect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH WYATT. YOU DUMB USELESS COWBOY. :'3 i love my horrible son, he's a mess. also, him and kieran got some SPARKS FLYIN son!!!! SPARKS!!!! (honestly if they dont fuck by the end of this fic, im gonna be very disappointed in myself)

Over time, Wyatt grew more used to being around the Van der Linde gang. He was even friendly with some of them. Most of all, obviously, there was Kieran, sweet little Kieran with the sparkling eyes and the trembling voice that were still sending Wyatt's heart aflutter more often than he'd like. He couldn't believe how quick this strange young man had sent him into a tizzy, but... he couldn't let him. Not now. He had a more pressing matter at hand.

Dutch. For almost a month, he'd been riding with the Van der Linde gang, and he had been too afraid to approach Dutch for any longer than a passing hello, and that was mostly the fault of the man Wyatt learned more through context and insinuation than anything was Dutch's husband.

Hosea Matthews was a tall, thin man, older than anyone else in the camp (besides maybe Leopold Strauss, the moneylender-slash-medic that had patched up Wyatt's impressive new cougar claw scar), and intensely protective of Dutch. Whether it was due to insecurity or something else, Wyatt wasn't sure, but that didn't particularly matter. What did matter was the fact that anytime Wyatt spent more than a few minutes speaking to Dutch, Hosea would be trying to burn holes in him from across camp, glaring daggers that never made him want to stick around for long.

Wyatt wasn't completely sure what Dutch saw in Hosea. He'd heard bits and pieces of their story from people around camp; something about how they met trying to rob each other and clicked instantly. How Hosea kept Dutch safe from himself, soothed him when he had these odd 'episodes' of intense panic and into slumber when he couldn't drift off. And the whole time, Wyatt could practically feel himself turning green with envy, jealousy and anger fueling a bonfire in his gut. Hosea rarely left camp without Dutch (and imagining what they were probably doing made Wyatt's stomach turn with how badly he wished he could _be_ that pathetic old fool), but on the rare occasion he did, Wyatt began timing him. How long he had to have Dutch to himself- not for anything bad, just to talk- and how quick he could get out of Dodge before Hosea returned and saw the one person he trusted less than Kieran anywhere near his spouse.

The fishing trips were the longest, several hours on average, and Dutch rarely went. "I ain't much of a fisherman," he said, "and he likes being alone when he's fishin'."

So he pounced one morning, not long after Hosea set off on his horse. "Dutch."

"Wyatt."

He paused, then shrugged and figured he may as well go for it. "... What's Hosea got that I don't?"

Dutch looked up from his book and quirked an eyebrow. "You mean besides his ring on my finger? He's handsome, he's smart, he's patient, he's loyal... Wyatt, we dated for 2 months when we were fifteen. Hosea and I have been together for twenty years. We're in our forties. It's-"

"Don't give me that 'I gotta move on' shit!" Wyatt snapped. "I... Dutch, I know it's been a long time. A real long time. I just... I loved you. Okay? I fell _real_ hard for you when we were kids, and... finding you again, the last place I thought I would... it's kinda brought all of that just... rushin' back." He rubbed his temples. "I loved you."

Dutch shook his head. "You loved _Bastian_ , not Dutch. I ain't the same person, Wyatt, and you know it. Hosea... I don't know how else to say it. He's my soulmate. He's half of me." Dutch shut his book, stood, and came a little closer to Wyatt, close enough that he could smell him. Tobacco, cedar wood, and campfire smoke, a combination that made Wyatt's spine tingle. "What we had back then, it's important to me," Dutch said, "But... it's over. It's long over."

"But-"

"Wyatt. The answer is no. Understood? No. I'm married, and I have been for a very, very long time. Hosea loves me. I love him. I refuse to risk what I have with him. Please, Wyatt. I appreciate you as a friend, and what we had back then was one of the best things that ever happened to me, but... it's in the past."

"... I just..."

"Please, Wyatt. Please understand what I'm trying to tell you."

"I get what you're tellin' me, Dutch." Wyatt swallowed hard, shook his head. "I just wish I knew why. Besides 'I love him.' Because... god, I get it, but why? He's-"

"I told you from day one, he's... territorial about me, for some reason. He knows what we had, and I think it scares him. I don't know why he gets so nervy around folk like you. He knows I ain't going anywhere. I wish I knew but he won't really tell me."

"So he don't trust you?"

"I don't think that's it, and I'd appreciate if you didn't talk like that about my husband again." Dutch's tone had dropped and his posture straightened a little as he clicked into 'leader mode'. "No matter how you feel about him, or me, Wyatt, you don't outrank neither of us. Watch your goddamn mouth."

"Uh-huh. Sure. Whatever." Wyatt snorted, shook his head. "I'm just gonna go. Fuck off, Dutch."

"Wyatt!"

Wyatt didn't turn back as he walked away, going toward the feeding point, leaning back against a tree, and sitting down under it to sulk in peace.

Peace that was quickly interrupted by the sudden appearance of Kieran.

"You alright, Wyatt?" he asked softly, as Wyatt jumped. "Oh... sorry. I didn't mean to scare you."

"It's fine. I'll be alright." The redhead looked up at Kieran, hoping he didn't look quite as defeated as he felt. "Kieran, I got a question for you."

"What's that?"

"You ever want someone you couldn't have?"

A heavy pause. "... Yeah. Why? This about Dutch?"

"Mmm."

"... I don't think you're gonna get him away from Mr. Hosea anytime soon," Kieran said gently, sinking down next to Wyatt. "If ever. I... I ain't talked to either of them much, 'cause they don't really like me, but... I can tell how much they love each other." Another pause. "I can hear how much they love each other some nights. Coulda gone my whole life without hearing that."

Wyatt wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry. He chose to just quietly snort a little, instead. "Kieran, I'm bein' serious..."

"So am I." Kieran put a hand on Wyatt's shoulder. "I... you ain't gonna win, Wyatt, and that ain't bad, really. I never win nothin', but I'm still alive. You'll still be alive when you quit tryin' to get at Dutch. Him and Hosea, they're meant for each other, and... well, you ain't."

Kieran's bluntness hurt, but in a way, it was something Wyatt needed to hear. "... Yeah. Maybe." He turned to his friend, saw that same sparkle that had made his heart skip a few beats on their fishing trip in his eyes, and tried to ignore it. "I appreciate this, Kieran. I swear. I ain't much of a talker, or nothin', but..."

"You don't gotta be." Kieran smiled, then his face lit up a little. "Hey, uh... m-maybe tomorrow night, we could do somethin' together? Go out for a drink, maybe? Lift your spirits a little?"

Wyatt scanned Kieran's face. The sweet thing was so hopeful, so genuine. "... I think I'd like that."


	4. Those Logs Owe You Money?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wyatt has quite a night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS SHIT AINT DEAD YET, LADS. next chapter is gratuitous porn! ;3

Wyatt busied himself most of the next day by fishing and chopping firewood almost obsessively, menial tasks to keep his mind off both the argument with Dutch and how excited he was to spend an evening with Kieran. Stupid, adorable Kieran with the sweet smile and big grey eyes, with the most genuine joy and love in his heart Wyatt had seen from anyone in this entire godforsaken gang of sinners. He hated how much Kieran made butterflies flit around his stomach and his heart beat fast, hated how he couldn't stuff those feelings down.

He'd already been burned by love once. He didn't want it to happen again. His luck was just too goddamn bad for him to trust his affection for this little fool; Dutch had just been the first in a line of unsuccessful relationships. Love was for fairy tales. Life wasn't a storybook. It didn't work like that. Love was hokey bullshit, all made up to sell fancy engagement rings _like that fucking ring on Dutch's finger that should have been his, goddammit, not that sick old man's, fucking Wyatt goddamn Conaway's-_

"Jesus, Conaway, those logs owe you money?"

Wyatt tensed and sighed heavily at the sound of a voice he'd come to recognize as Hosea's. The two had been keeping a distance from each other mostly at Dutch's insistence; he was evidently afraid they'd kill each other like lions fighting over a scrap of meat. "Flattered as I am," he'd said, "I think it's best if you kept away from each other." And here he was, the guy that caught the prize fish, waving it in Wyatt's face while he tried to fix his broken line.

"The hell do you want?"

"To talk."

Hosea sat on a crate nearby, coughed a couple times, bumped his fist against his chest to clear his airway. "You still love Dutch, don't you?"

"... Yeah." Wyatt wasn't sure how to politely tell an old man to go fuck himself. Instead, he figured he might as well act as interesting as a piece of plywood. "You won, though. Why are you rubbing it in my face?"

"I'm not tryin' to. I've been talking to Dutch."

"Been doin' a lot more than _talkin'_ if that ring says anythin'," Wyatt grumbled under his breath, bringing the axe down on another log particularly roughly.

"I ain't a fan of you, either, but hear me out." Hosea leaned back casually, crossed his legs like he owned the world. Wyatt paused and set the axe aside, turning to look at Hosea and cocking an eyebrow at him, nonverbally inviting him to continue. "Like I said. I've been talking to Dutch, and we've come to a conclusion. If you want, you can have him. One night. Get it out of your system."

Wyatt thought he was going to faint. "... What?"

"One. Night." Hosea emphasized his point with a steely, cold glare. "And two conditions. I'm nearby- I won't watch if you say not to, but I wanna hear what's going on- and you _do not_ finish inside him. That's a privilege only _I_ get."

An odd stipulation, but Wyatt wasn't exactly in the position to ask questions. "I... um. Okay."

"Good. Meet us at the hotel in Valentine on Sunday night at 7. Ask for Tacitus Kilgore." With that, Hosea stood and wandered away, toward the large tent in the center of camp. Well, then. A curious encounter, but not one Wyatt was willing to let get in the way of his evening away from all these madmen. He checked his pocket watch and almost fainted for a second time when he saw the time- 5 o' clock?! He said he'd meet Kieran at 5:30!- and rushed for his quickly-put-together lean-to, throwing on the cleanest clothes he had and running a comb through his sweat-mussed hair before darting to Denver, saddling him up, and taking off at a blistering gallop for Valentine. The pony snorted his discontent at the rough treatment, but Wyatt spurred him onward, only stopping once he'd safely reached the largest saloon in Valentine. He skidded Denver to a stop on the muddy road, and right before he hitched him, the stallion nipped at his master's shoulder and snorted again.

"Don't give me that attitude, mister," Wyatt threatened, before reaching into his satchel and retrieving an apple, letting Denver munch on it from his palm as a sort of peace offering. "I promise I won't do that again," he murmured to the golden stallion, who nickered and nuzzled his rider, the apology evidently accepted. With a deep breath, Wyatt stepped through the doors of the saloon and scanned the crowd for Kieran, who stuck out immediately when he lifted a bottle in greeting.

"You made it!"

"Yeah, sorry I'm late," Wyatt said, apologetic and sheepish as he sat down across from Kieran. "Lost track of time doin' stuff around the camp. Figured that might be the quickest way to make Dutch's husband not hate me."

"Hosea ain't got a mean bone in him," Kieran offered, sliding a second bottle of beer toward Wyatt, who took it gratefully and downed a long swig of it. "He don't hate you, I don't think. It'd be hard to. You ain't a bad feller."

Wyatt snorted a little. "Trust me, it ain't that tough."

"... You okay? You need to talk?"

Wyatt glanced up from the label on the bottle he'd been picking at, into Kieran's eyes. The shy young man looked away quickly, but in the moment they were able to make eye contact, Wyatt saw something genuine in those pretty grey eyes. Pity? Sympathy? Both? He wasn't entirely sure. "... I dunno. I just... since I left home, my family... they ain't really made an effort to get in touch, and... it just kinda feels like I ain't wanted nor liked, neither one. I don't got a place to call home. Even with everyone else around, it's... it's lonesome."

Kieran was quiet for a second. "I like you," he said, so soft that Wyatt had to strain to hear him over the piano. "I like you a lot. You're... you're the first person who treated me decent in a long time. That's gotta be good for somethin', right?"

"... I guess." Wyatt shrugged. "But you treated me good first. Took me off that table and gave me somethin' soft to lay on, anyway."

"How's that scar, anyway?"

"Healin'. I'll be fine." Wyatt tucked a lock of hair behind his ear and took another drink of his beer. "But hearin' that means a lot to me. Honest. You're about the only really decent feller in this gang."

Kieran huffed a bit of laughter. "I... I ain't really part of the gang. They keep me around 'cause I saved Arthur's life, not 'cause they like me. Obligation more than anythin'." He set his bottle of beer aside with a shrug. "I mean, it's... it's safer to be in a group than alone anyway, so I don't mind. I'll take bein' teased if it means I ain't dead."

\---

Wyatt usually wasn't able to stop after two beers. Usually, when he drank, he drank until his head spun and he forgot why he started in the first place, whether it be to drown his demons or to have a good time, but Kieran's presence tempered his self-loathing. A little. The pair were still seated in the saloon in Valentine, tucked back into a corner away from the noise and crowds- Kieran didn't seem to like either of them much- and for the first time in a while, Wyatt was enjoying himself while relatively sober. "So I got this big white horse, right," Kieran was saying, rocking a bit in his seat as he spoke, "And Colm, he's tellin' me, 'that thing ain't worth your time, kid, shoot it and get it overwith,' but I wouldn't let him. She was a good horse, Flurry was. I miss her."

"What happened to her?"

"Dunno... one of Colm's other boys took her 'cause his horse broke its neck and I never saw her again." Kieran looked a bit down for a moment, but perked back up when he said, "But then I bought Branwen. He's my heart horse, I think. Never loved an animal as much in my life. My best buddy."

"Heh. Sounds like me and Denver." Wyatt leaned a little closer, subconsciously. "Bought him as a yearling with the money I got sellin' bear parts. He was worth every penny. Best horse I ever owned."

"Lil' small, ain't he?"

"Small but mighty. Dynamite comes in tiny packages, too, but everyone treats it with respect. Denver nips ya once and you ain't gonna mess with him again. He kicked a feller in the family jewels once for tryin' to go through my saddlebag."

"No."

"Yep. Feller doubled over, threw up an' everythin'. All his buddies ran off and left him there, too."

Kieran burst into laughter, musical and delightful, and Wyatt's heart leapt in his chest. _Goddammit. Not again._ He bit his lip as he watched Kieran come down from his giggle fit, mirth in his eyes and a smile on his face. "You got some good stories, you know?" Kieran began, resting his hand on the side table between them casually. "I-"

A pause. Wyatt's hand was atop Kieran's. "... W-Wyatt?" Kieran asked, his voice catching a bit. "What're you doin'?"

"... Look, I know we're doin' this to get my mind offa Dutch," Wyatt began, "And... and I swear, I ain't just... Kieran-"

Kieran's cheeks were pink, and he glanced between their hands and Wyatt's lips a few times. "... Wyatt, I'm-"

"I know, I know, it's... it's dumb, but... you do things to me, Kieran, things I ain't felt since... well, since Dutch." Wyatt bit his lip, looked down, and moved his hand off of Kieran's. "I'm sorry."

"Wyatt, no, that ain't..." Kieran giggled a little- Wyatt could only describe it as a giggle, gentle and soft and shy, like the boy himself was- and took Wyatt's hand again. "You know, even layin' on that table with your face stitched together, I thought you was pretty."

This time it was Wyatt's turn to blush, but he hid it with a quiet chuckle and a downward tip of the brim of his hat. "Well. I dunno about pretty, but... I appreciate the compliment." He felt Kieran's hand squeeze his own a little, and the touch lit his nerves on fire. "I... I promise, this ain't just rebound feelings, Kieran, I-"

"No, no! I... even if it is, I... I'm alright with that."

For a moment, both fell quiet. Then, they were stumbling over their own words at the same time.

"Kieran, I-"

"Wyatt, this is-"

A pause.

"I promise I'm-"

"I just-"

Pause. Wyatt sighed a little, stood, and offered his hand to Kieran. "C'mon. I think... it's getting late, and... we oughta get home."

"... Okay." Kieran took Wyatt's hand, biting his lip and blushing as he did. "I... Wyatt, I ain't never... never had someone like this, before."

"That's alright. Been a damn long time for me, too." Wyatt smiled a little as he led Kieran out of the saloon. "We're gonna take this slow, alright? Slow as you want. Hell, fast as you want, I don't care."

Kieran nodded, returned the smile, and gave Wyatt's hand a squeeze. "If... if we don't work out-?"

"Then no hard feelings. Promise."

"... Okay."

The pair stood for a second, Kieran nervously shifting his weight from one foot to the other, before Wyatt tipped his hat and moved toward Denver. "Ride back with me, then? I think we got things we need to talk about, Mr. Duffy."


	5. You're Gonna Make Some Feller Real Happy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wyatt lives his dream, just for one night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HERE IT IS, THE GRATUITOUS PORN CHAPTER!!!! also dutch is still a bottom, fight me

Wyatt only hoped the folks in Valentine weren't mumbling about him as he wandered into the town for the second time in three days. He was sure the various members of the Van der Linde gang were getting to be standard sights in the tiny livestock town, but for some reason, he felt like people were staring. _Who's that? He sure has been around a lot,_ he could almost hear them saying. Between his freckles and his bright red hair and now the large and unsightly scar over his eye, he had to stick out like a sore thumb. Maybe he didn't, and he was just being self conscious. He tried not to think about it too much as he walked into the hotel, clearing his throat to get the attention of the owner behind the desk. "'Scuse me, mister?"

"How can I help, sir?" The owner didn't take his eyes off his ledger.

"I, ah, I'm lookin' for a Tacitus Kilgore? I was told to meet him here tonight."

"He havin' a party or somethin'? Another fella came up asking for him earlier. Room 2B, son."

Wyatt nodded his thanks and ascended the stairs, the creak of the old wood and his heartbeat echoing in his head. Torn between his head saying this was a horrible idea, and his heart (and dick) saying it was a great one, he took a deep breath as he turned down the hall and paused at room 2B. Final chance to turn back.

He didn't take it. He rapped on the door gently, using the coded knock Hosea had told him to (three soft taps and one heavier one). Almost immediately, there were hushed whispers between two masculine voices, before the lock clicked and Hosea stepped out. Wyatt didn't get a peek at the room when he did, and he shut the door behind him, key in hand. "So you came."

"Yeah. I, um... look, if y'all changed your minds-"

"No, no, not that. Just kind of surprised you didn't, is all." Hosea cleared his throat. "Swear to god, Conaway, if you hurt him... more than he asks you to, anyway-"

"Wouldn't dream of it. He, ah, likes it rough, then?"

"... A bit. I'll tell you that if you ain't pullin' his hair, you're not doing it right."

"So... where are you gonna be?"

Hosea smirked and displayed the key for the room next door. "Busted in there, swiped the key from the owner when he wasn't looking. I have some books to keep me entertained, but I want to warn you that if I hear him ask you to stop and you _don't_ -"

"Hosea, god, I get it, I ain't gonna hurt him. Gimme a little credit."

A long pause, then Hosea offered his hand to Wyatt to shake. "Be good to him, Mr. Conaway, and we ain't gonna have any quarrel."

"I aim to be good to him, Mr. Matthews."

The deal sealed with a handshake, Hosea handed Wyatt the key to room 2B and vanished into the neighboring room, the door clicking shut behind him. With one last deep breath, Wyatt turned the knob and walked in to 2B, slowly shutting the door behind him. The tension in the room was thick enough to cut with a knife the second he laid eyes on Dutch.

Dutch, nervously rubbing the back of his neck, naked as a jay bird on the bed, a pillow in his lap to provide himself some amount of modesty. The dim light from the lanterns and the evening sun streaming in through the window cast him in a soft gold glow, a glow that perfectly, _beautifully_ accented every inch of his body.

Wyatt kicked his boots off and left them near the door, then shrugged off his jacket and hung it on the coat rack. As he approached the bed, his heart racing enough that he could hear little else, he unbuttoned and shed his vest, unhooked his suspenders and let them- and his pants, damn things were a bit too big- to the floor, then slid his shirt off his shoulders once he calmed the trembling of his hands enough to unbutton it.

Silence as he hooked a thumb under the waist of his drawers. "Last chance to tell me no before I gotta slink outta here naked, Dutch."

"I ain't gonna tell you no." Dutch's voice was low and husky, and Wyatt felt his cock go from mildly interested to completely enthralled almost quickly enough to make his head spin. Keeping the urge to rip his undershorts off and fuck Dutch into the mattress, Wyatt took a deep breath and slid the thin fabric down his legs, kicking the garment off to the side somewhere.

The two of them stared at each other, those deep brown eyes of Dutch's boring holes into Wyatt's very soul, before their lips met. Wyatt didn't entirely know when or how he ended up atop Dutch, their legs tangled together and the kiss unbroken; it was like having those lips on his after so many years caused his brain to stop functioning entirely for a moment. Dutch tasted like tobacco and fine brandy, he trembled underneath Wyatt like he had all that time ago, and he reached up to tangle his fingers into red hair.

"How do you wanna do this?" Wyatt breathed when the kiss broke, their lips still almost touching, and Dutch shuddered again. He closed his eyes, thought a moment as Wyatt's hands wandered over his body, then gently pushed at Wyatt's chest.

"Let me up."

The next few moments felt like they melted together in time, until Wyatt was on his knees behind Dutch, pressing his cock slick with Vaseline almost definitely stolen from a pharmacist or doctor against his entrance, as Dutch gripped the headboard and whimpered softly with each teasing prod.

"Just do it, already," Dutch whispered, gasping and white-knuckling the headboard as the tip of Wyatt's cock slid into him. He groaned, his toes curling, as Wyatt pressed in deep, their hips meeting before he pulled out again, slow and steady. "Shit..."

Wyatt growled, dug his fingertips into Dutch's hips, subconsciously hoping that he was grabbing him in the same way Hosea did, that he'd have to look at those little reddish bruises for a while whenever he made love to Dutch. "Fuck, you're tight," Wyatt snarled into Dutch's ear, his thrusts still slow and deep, as he moved a hand up to tangle his fingers into his hair. It was every bit as soft as he remembered, and the memory briefly made Wyatt shiver. Hosea's little 'tip' that Dutch liked his hair pulled paid off, as Dutch moaned and melted against him at even the touch. "Mmmh, fuck, been daydreamin' about this for years..." Wyatt leaned over Dutch's back, nipped at the back of his neck, relished the gasp and long, low groan it got him. He'd never thought Dutch would be so vocal. But he liked it. He liked it a lot.

He quickened his thrusts, gritting his teeth momentarily before giving Dutch's hair a gentle tug. Dutch yelped softly, in a combination of pleasure and pain, and his back arched. "Goddamn... fuck, yeah..." Dutch's nails were digging into the headboard, leaving behind almost animalistic claw marks. "Yeah... harder..."

For a moment, Wyatt considered obliging him. Then he smirked, let out a low chuckle, and instead pulled out entirely. Dutch whined quizzically, then let out a squeak of surprise when Wyatt slapped his ass, hard and sudden. "Turn over. I ain't gonna let you pretend you're with him."

"You're a piece of shit, Wyatt Conaway," Dutch whispered breathlessly, even as he turned over and lay back, legs spread like a common whore for Wyatt to settle between like he belonged there. Like this was his territory.

"You were thinkin' about him, though. Admit it." Wyatt guided himself back into Dutch, snarling as Dutch whined and tipped his head back. "Mmmh, fuck... you were thinkin' about him. Not me. I... wanted this... for years," his last stence was stuttered a bit as he began thrusting again, watching Dutch's hands knot into the sheets for a moment, "An' I'm not... lettin' that _dumb lunkhead_... take you from me... again."

And then he snapped his hips forward, silencing any protest Dutch might have had to him insulting Hosea. Dutch cried out, sharp and sudden, and his legs wound around Wyatt's waist. "Fuck! Goddamn, Conaway, you-"

"Shush." Wyatt let a hand wind around Dutch's throat and smirked when he groaned desperately, his cock twitching between them. "Ohhh, someone likes bein' choked, huh?" he asked, voice low and growly, and Dutch answered him with nothing more than an enthusiastic nod. "Well, then." He tightened his grip and moved faster inside Dutch, watching him white-knuckle the sheets and let out a strangled groan. Fuck.

As he lowered himself atop Dutch, thrusting harder and faster, Wyatt found himself wondering what was missing from the equation. The sex itself felt fantastic, sure, but it wasn't everything he dreamed it would be. It took him a moment to realize what the missing piece was.

There was no spark. Dutch gasped and whimpered beneath him, clearly enjoying himself if the iron-hard cock leaking precome over his stomach was any indication, but there was no passion. He'd had these daydreams of Dutch screaming his name, clawing his back and begging him for more, but... no. None of that.

A winding tension built in his gut, and he snarled, rutting into Dutch as hard and fast as he could. "Fuck, god, m'close, Dutch," Wyatt panted, gasping as Dutch's fingernails finally dug into his shoulders like he'd fantasized about for years. "Fuck, you got claws..."

Dutch didn't answer him, too busy with babbling praises and dirty little nothings to comment. "Fuck, yeah, m'close," he breathed, his toes curling hard enough to crack as Wyatt's cock slammed into his prostate, the words taken out his mouth in a breathless cry. "Close, close, fuck, don't stop-!"

Almost too late, Wyatt remembered the admonishment from Hosea that _he wasn't supposed to finish inside him_ , that doing so would be a breach of terms, and he scrambled to pull out. Just barely out in time, Wyatt let out a deep groan as he spent his load on Dutch's stomach, barely able to make out the disappointed whine from the man below him. As he came down from orgasm, he wrapped a hand around Dutch's cock (quite a bit thicker than he'd imagined, honestly) and stroked gently. "Your husband said I shouldn't," was the only explanation he offered when Dutch gave him a quizzical and almost judgmental look, one Wyatt immediately realized was meant to communicate his frustration over Wyatt pulling out. "Said that was a privilege only he got."

"He was right," Dutch mumbled, gritting his teeth as a calloused thumb slid over the head of his cock, "But you never was much for following instructions." He gasped and his head fell back against the pillows again, sweat matting a lock of his hair to his forehead. "Fffffuck, Wyatt, I-"

"Come on," Wyatt murmured to him, flicking his wrist just so with each stroke and gently rubbing the pad of his thumb against the underside of the head. "Come for me." And come Dutch did, panting and whining as his seed sputtered onto his abdomen, mixing with Wyatt's. He melted against the mattress when the white-hot grip of pleasure finally released him, breathing heavily, as Wyatt maneuvered to lay beside him.

"... Well."

"Well?"

"That... that was pretty good." Dutch smiled and chuckled weakly. "You get it out of your system?"

"... I think so." Wyatt hoped his hurt wasn't too obvious. All of that, and that was all he got in terms of acknowledgement? "I, um... thank you for this. And... thank your husband, too. Been wanting this for a long time."

"Mmm." Dutch's response was almost a purr. He turned to Wyatt, still smiling, satisfaction and exhaustion evident on his face. "You're gonna make some feller real happy, Wyatt."

"I hope so."

_I just wish it was you._ The words were unspoken, but obvious in Wyatt's voice. "... A kiss for the road, Dutch?"

"You're leavin'?" Dutch sat up slowly, wincing a bit. "I ain't kicking you out..."

"I..." Wyatt shrugged a little. "You were right. We can't be a thing again, but... it was nice to pretend for a night." He pressed a soft kiss to Dutch's lips. "Thank you."

Wyatt moved out of bed to dress himself. "You don't have to go," Dutch said again, his tone betraying that he was confused and hurt. "Did I say somethin'?"

"No, no, just... comin' to a realization, I suppose," Wyatt answered with a shrug as he pulled his shirt on, then his pants. Buttoning his shirt, he continued, "You were right when you said we could never work out. I loved Bastian, not Dutch. I mean, I still like ya, just... not the way I used to. No offense, but... that wasn't quite what I expected."

"What _did_ you expect?"

A pause as Wyatt pulled his drawers and trousers up, settling his suspenders into place before buttoning the fly. "I don't know. I guess I was hopin' for this big romantic moment with fireworks and shit, where you realized I was all you ever wanted and I realized you was all I ever wanted, but... that didn't really happen for neither of us, did it?"

"... I love Hosea, Wyatt. I ain't gonna leave him." Dutch's tone was deathly serious. He meant everything he said. "I... I'm sorry."

"So am I." Wyatt shrugged a little as he finished redressing. "Dutch? This still meant a lot to me. That you- and your husband- would trust me enough to let me... Thank you."

"I mean, I had a good time." Dutch smiled a little. "... I'm sorry, Wyatt."

"Don't be. Ain't no one's fault you found someone." Wyatt returned to Dutch and kissed him, softly, one more time. "But you know what? I think I needed this. Open my eyes a lil' bit."

And as he left after a final cordial goodbye (and sliding the key to room 2B under the door to 2A), Wyatt mounted Denver and turned him toward camp, thinking the whole time about what Dutch had said to him.

_You're gonna make some feller real happy, Wyatt._

As he approached Horseshoe Overlook, the stars high above twinkling down on him, Wyatt realized just who that feller was.


	6. Fine By Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Those three words that mean so much, finally spoken.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AND THUS THE IDIOTS FELL FOR EACH OTHER. theres prob gonna be a gratuitous smut chapter between these two next ;3

One more night, he kept telling himself, just one night. Then one week. Then, eventually, one month, then two.

In reality, Wyatt didn't see himself leaving the Van der Linde gang's company anytime soon. It wasn't like he had anywhere else to go, or anyone who would come looking for him if he wasn't seen in a while. After his little tryst with Dutch, he felt part of his soul settle, like the ending of a chapter in a book. The closure he'd needed for years had finally come, and now, he could focus a little more on what really mattered.

Kieran. The sweet but clueless young man who'd snuck in and stolen Wyatt's heart when he least expected it, a fact he hadn't totally realized until some time after his evening alone with Dutch. Sure, there was that fishing trip, where Kieran had snickered at his misfortune and Wyatt found himself more enthralled than angry, and that tipsy-but-not-drunk evening in the Valentine saloon where the pair had confessed some stumbling, awkward feelings of affection for one another, and for the last few weeks they'd been quietly sharing a tent- hell, a bed roll, as often as they could- but Wyatt didn't fully realize how genuinely in love he was with this stuttering, awkward little fool until the middle of the night in their new camp, somewhere outside Rhodes.

He woke in the dead of night. The camp was dark and silent, virtually everyone asleep except for those unfortunates on guard duty. Kieran was no exception, dozing peacefully beside him, curled up tight and his fingers twitching a bit as he dreamed. He looked so innocent and unburdened, his lips parted just a bit as he slept, and Wyatt felt his heart leap into his throat. For a minute, the rest of the camp didn't exist. There was only himself, Kieran, and the soft night song of insects, nocturnal birds, foxes barking, and the gentle waves of the lake behind the camp lapping at the shore.

In that minute, Wyatt felt like he'd found the answer to life, the universe, and everything. He reached out, hand trembling, and brushed a stray lock of dark hair back behind Kieran's ear. His touch wasn't quite gentle enough, as Kieran stirred and woke, looking up at him drowsily and making a quiet, quizzical sound. Wyatt's voice caught in his throat for a quarter of a second before he found it again. "Go back to sleep," he whispered. "S'nothin'."

And Kieran had hummed softly, snuggled into Wyatt, and gone back to sleep like the interruption hadn't happened at all. He hadn't been this close to another human being, not in a genuine sense, in so long, and Wyatt felt like he could cry. Instead, though, he wrapped an arm around Kieran, pressed his lips to the top of his head, and slept like that, the pair secure in one another's grip.

When the sun rose, he was still holding Kieran close, the latter's head tucked under Wyatt's chin.

They slept like that every night for the next few weeks.

The magic words weren't uttered until a lazy morning, well before the rest of the camp had stirred, as the pair lay wrapped in each other's arms as ever. They had taken to nudging both of their bedrolls to lay side by side as opposed to squeezing themselves onto one, though they still made a valiant effort to do so. They talked softly, no higher than a whisper, foreheads pressed against each other.

During a brief conversational lull, Wyatt steeled himself before he said it.

"I, um... I gotta tell you somethin'."

"What?" Kieran looked up at him with those goddamn eyes, those trusting grey eyes Wyatt thought he could drown in, and more than ever, he knew what he was about to say was true.

"Kieran, I... I think, um..." he pulled Kieran in close, chest-to-chest. "I love you."

Kieran went wide-eyed, the hand that had been resting comfortably on Wyatt's chest suddenly gripping his shirt. "I... if you ain't-"

Wyatt got no further before Kieran's lips were on his, crushing their mouths together in a desperate kiss. It was clumsy, and almost painful, but Wyatt returned it, trying to guide him a little. It didn't work, not well, and Wyatt pulled back with a soft laugh before Kieran could accidentally bump their teeth together. "Easy, there, tiger," he whispered. "You never kissed before, have you?"

"... Not a lot," Kieran admitted sheepishly. "I, um... I love you, too, by the way."

"Kinda figured that," Wyatt said sarcastically, grinning when Kieran gave him a pouty, almost petulant look. "So, um... that mean we're a couple?"

"I was hopin' so." Kieran smiled sweetly, and Wyatt melted.

"Fine by me." He pressed their foreheads together again, and stroked his fingers through Kieran's hair. "Fine by me."


	7. This Is About You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The unresolved sexual tension is finally resolved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MERRY [SLIGHTLY LATE] CHRISTMAS HAVE KIERAN GETTIN LAID. enjoy this happiness while it lasts yall ;3

If anyone had anything to say about the O'Driscoll and the unexpected hunter shacking up, they didn't voice it. Wyatt and Kieran didn't make a point to hide their relationship. They were as open as Dutch and Hosea were, Wyatt sliding an arm around Kieran's waist or shoulders when the gang gathered around the campfire, Kieran smiling and leaning into him when he did. They shared a tent that Wyatt had spent weeks buttering up the other camp members to let him buy, so they didn't have to sleep in a rickety lean-to, snuggled close together as if protecting each other from the harshness of the outside world.

The flaps of the canvas tent were occasionally drawn shut, but the gang never heard anything. They weren't like Dutch and Hosea, who were loud enough to wake the dead some nights, or Sean and Karen, who didn't even try to be quiet.

Mostly because nothing was going on in that tent at all. Wyatt just slept better when he had a little privacy. He and Kieran hadn't gone any further than kissing; the one time he'd slid a hand up Kieran's shirt he'd gotten a quiet whimper and "not yet" in return. As much as he wanted to complain, he didn't. He'd said he was going to take things at Kieran's pace, and Wyatt was, if nothing else, a man of his word. So, removing his hand and nodding, he went back to strictly touching him over his clothes, gentle and sweet, never letting his hands venture below his lover's waist.

Until a muggy evening when Kieran placed Wyatt's hand on his ass himself, then giggled and smiled up at him innocently when his eyes went wide and he tensed, unsure of whether to pull back or not. "... You testin' me, Mr. Duffy?" Wyatt asked, his hand still on Kieran's backside. "If this is a test, I'm gonna fail it, you know."

"No, Wyatt, I..." Kieran blushed, pressed their lips together in a soft kiss, and smiled shyly when the kiss broke. "I'm ready."

"... Not here," Wyatt whispered, though instead of withdrawing his hand he gave Kieran's ass a quick squeeze before sliding it to his hip, rubbing gentle circles there. "You deserve better than some tent in the dirt. Ride with me to Saint Denis tomorrow. I'll get us a nice hotel room. Get you alone." Their lips met again, slow and gentle. "You, um... I'm guessin' you never-"

"... No." Kieran bit his lip and lowered his gaze. "S-sorry."

"Shh, no, don't be, it ain't your fault. Just wanted to know. For now, get some sleep." Wyatt smirked. "You sure as shit ain't gettin' any tomorrow night."

\---

"Oh, wow."

"Nice, huh?" Wyatt asked, smiling as he gently ushered Kieran into their hotel room. "Passed through here before, huntin' this big white panther they said lived by the Braithwaite place. Remembered the hotel better than the hunt." He shut and locked the door as Kieran sprawled out on the bed with a long sigh.

"Oh, man, I ain't slept on anything this nice in months," he said almost dreamily, stroking his fingers over the soft sheets. He turned to lean into Wyatt when he felt his weight on the bed beside him. "Thank you."

"Well, I don't know how much sleepin' we're gonna be doin'," Wyatt murmured as he maneuvered himself to lay beside Kieran, pulling him close and letting his hands wander his body freely for the first time. "But I wanted your first time to be better than it woulda been in that tent."

"Mmm. Appreciate that." Kieran purred happily as Wyatt kissed his forehead. "So, um... I... I don't know what I'm doin'," he began, "If you, uh... wanna show me how...?"

"'Course. You tell me if you want me to stop, alright? This is about you." Wyatt gently pressed a hand to Kieran's shoulder, moving him to lay on his back, climbing atop him when he did. Their lips met again, trembling hands grasping at clothes and desperately pulling them off, undoing buttons and sliding fabric away from skin. Wyatt dipped his head down to nip at Kieran's neck; the gentle kisses and kitten-licks and nibbles sent chills down Kieran's spine and he dug his fingertips into freckled shoulders.

"You like that?"

"Mmhm..."

"Alright. Good." Wyatt moved his hand down Kieran's body, stopping for a moment at his chest to tease at one nipple with his thumb and forefinger while taking the other in his mouth (Kieran whined in response, trembling head-to-toe), before letting his hand keep trailing down, down, down until he felt his fingertips make contact with metal. "You can say no whenever you want, Kieran."

"No, I... I want this." Kieran pulled Wyatt into a kiss, as if to prove his point, and Wyatt moaned against his lover's lips before he undid Kieran's pants, pushing them down in one swift movement with his underpants.

He wasn't sure what he was expecting, but it wasn't what he got. Kieran wasn't working with much- short, not exactly thick- and he supposed his surprise was evident. "I... I know it ain't much," Kieran began, his face a shade of magenta Wyatt wasn't aware humans could turn, "But I-"

"Shhh, no, you're fine, you're fine. I wasn't expectin' you to be hung like a damn horse." Wyatt gently took Kieran's cock in his hand, stroking slowly. "How you wanna do this, darlin'?"

"I... I..." Kieran whimpered and bucked his hips when Wyatt's calloused thumb rolled over the head of his cock, sweeping precome over it. "Oh, god, I... I don't know..."

Wyatt chuckled softly. Poor thing never could get a grip on himself or his words, could he? "Alright. I'll only go as far as you wanna go." He let go of his lover's dick and kissed him again, backing away only long enough to finish disrobing and casting his clothes to the floor beside the bed. Kieran went wide-eyed when he was faced with Wyatt's cock, currently at half-mast and growing more interested in the goings-on by the minute. "You want me to put 'em back on?"

"No! No, I... I just ain't never seen-"

"What, one that ain't yours?"

"... Not like this, no." Kieran swallowed hard and reached up for Wyatt, a hand on the back of his neck to guide him down into another kiss. "Just... I'm a lil' scared, I guess."

"S'fine. I was too, my first few times. I'm gonna make this good, I promise." Wyatt began stroking Kieran's cock again, listening closely to the little whines and whimpers he made. "Just let me know if anything is too much."

For a few minutes they went no further, just kissing and touching and stroking, Kieran squirming adorably under Wyatt's touch, Wyatt trying to gently guide Kieran's hands to where he wanted- needed- them to be, telling him how to touch and how not to touch. If the poor thing came away from this with literally any more knowledge, it would be a godsend. Wyatt's cock, hard and dripping, poked against Kieran's thigh, refusing to be ignored any longer, after some fifteen minutes of foreplay. "Kieran, if you... if you don't touch me, I might actually explode," Wyatt managed through gritted teeth, his hips rocking slightly to maybe, hopefully get some friction on his aching dick.

Kieran bit his lip nervously, but reached down and took Wyatt's cock in his hand, stroking gently, slowly, and a bit clumsily, but the touch itself was like bliss. "L-like this?"

"Mmh... almost. Just... hold a little tighter, don't be afraid to use your thumb a little..." He groaned aloud when Kieran clumsily stroked his thumb over the head of his cock, the way Wyatt had done to him earlier. "Yeah... that's it... fuck, I wanna be inside you," Wyatt breathed, feeling Kieran tense in response. "You... only if you want..."

"I... w-will it hurt?"

"I can't lie and say no," Wyatt began, "But if you relax it's a lot easier... an' if you need me to stop just tell me, alright?"

"... A-Alright."

Kieran withdrew his hand from Wyatt's body, watching him as he briefly climbed out of bed, swearing as he dug through his discarded satchel for a moment before triumphantly declaring "There you are, you lil' devil!" when he pulled out a tin of something Kieran didn't immediately recognize. He unscrewed the lid as he crawled back into bed, gently guiding Kieran's legs up, pushing his knees to his chest, then coating two fingers in the semi-solid material in the tin.

"What is that?"

"Vaseline," Wyatt answered, "Usually I use it when my lips get chapped, but... s'good for this, too. Now... relax."

Kieran tried to relax, but found himself jumping and recoiling slightly when the slick pad of Wyatt's finger pressed against his ass. It was an odd, new sensation, and his body tensed against his will. "Wyatt-"

"Shhh, it's alright. You want to, still?"

"... Y-Yeah..."

"Okay. Tryin' again." His finger again pressed against Kieran's entrance. "Deep breath."

Kieran took a long, deep breath, and gasped when he felt Wyatt's finger slide into him. It didn't hurt, and it didn't feel bad, it just felt... weird. "You alright?" Wyatt asked softly, his free hand on the back of Kieran's thigh. "Doesn't hurt?"

"Mm-mm," Kieran managed, licking his lips. "Jus'... f-feels different."

"Jerk yourself off while I'm doin' this. It helps." Wyatt moved his finger slowly, gently, and Kieran bit back a yelp of surprise before deciding maybe using his hand was worth it. He reached down and stroked his dick, in time with Wyatt's movements, and felt himself relax. The finger inside him and hand on his cock were a nice combination. So nice, in fact, he barely noticed a second finger pressing into him until it was almost burning, and he winced a little. "Wyatt, ooh, god... easy."

"Too much?"

Kieran took a couple of deep breaths, felt himself relax a bit. The burning eased into a tingly pleasure, almost enough to make his toes curl. "N-no, I... be gentle, please..."

"M'tryin' to, sweetheart. M'tryin'. Just breathe. Gonna try and get one more in you."

Expecting the intrusion made it easier, and Kieran whined, a beautiful, high-pitched noise that Wyatt was coming to love, when the third finger pushed into him. Slowly, gently, Wyatt worked his partner open, fingers moving just so, just right. "I love you," he purred to Kieran as he worked, not expecting an answer through the whimpers and gasps. "I love you, Kieran, my god... you're a work of art..." Kieran whimpered, bit his lip, his brow furrowed adorably and his toes curled when Wyatt crooked his fingers. "Shhhh... relax."

Then his fingers brushed over Kieran's prostate, and the poor thing _howled_ , his rock-hard dick suddenly spurting cum across his stomach. His pent-up state was evident by the sheer volume of his release. Wyatt managed to pull his fingers out of him and wrap his arms around Kieran's legs, trying to hold him in one spot. "Jesus, sweetheart," he said as Kieran's writhing stopped, leaving him panting, "You okay? Did you come or have a seizure?"

"That... that felt amazing..." Kieran's eyes were glazed over with pleasure, and his chest heaved with each ragged, panting breath. "Wyatt, I..."

"You done? You want me to stop?"

"N-no, I..." Kieran let his head fall back against the pillows. "I want more..." He blushed, almost like he was ashamed to be expressing his desire so openly. "I want more... please..."

Wyatt chuckled fondly, pawed around for the discarded tin of jelly for a moment, then slicked his cock with it. "Alright. I would ask you to turn over, but... I wanna see your cute little face." Kieran blushed even more at Wyatt's words, letting out a quiet giggle before gasping, his eyes going wide, as the head of Wyatt's dick nudged at his entrance. "Shhh. Relax..."

Kieran yelped when the blunt pressure turned to a stinging pain for a moment. Wyatt snarled, gripped his partner's thighs, and trembled, trying desperately to hold his hips still. "I-it hurts," Kieran murmured, tears burning the corners of his eyes, and Wyatt let out a quiet huff, not of laughter but of something else, before turning to press a soft kiss to Kieran's shin, the one part of him close enough to reach.

"I know, baby. I know it hurts," Wyatt whispered, his voice heavy with lust. "Take a couple deep breaths. I'm not gonna move 'til you tell me to." Kieran nodded, biting his lip, and let his body adjust. He took deep breaths, deep as he could, as Wyatt reached down and gently wiped away the tears. The touch was so tender and genuine that it made Kieran want to cry all over again, turning and nuzzling Wyatt's work-roughed palm. With a fond chuckle, Wyatt moved his hand a bit to cradle Kieran's lower jaw, run a thumb along his lips. "You okay?"

"Uh-huh..." Kieran's reply was almost dreamy, and he risked opening his eyes to gaze up at the man inside him. "Y-you can... you can move."

The low growl Wyatt let out as he fucked into Kieran was primal and intense, even keeping his hips at a steady and gentle pace. "Goddamn," he murmured, releasing Kieran's legs from his death grip and lowering himself atop him, pressing kisses to his face as Kieran gasped, groaned, mewled his way through each thrust. "So fuckin' good, beautiful, so good," Wyatt purred to him. Kieran whined loudly as Wyatt thrust into him deeper, bringing his hands up to knot in his lover's red hair, tugging him into a kiss almost unintentionally. Almost. Neither was going to complain about it, and as their lips met, Wyatt's tongue slipped into Kieran's mouth. Immediately, Kieran whimpered softly, submitting entirely to his partner, moaning into the kiss as Wyatt thrust into him faster.

The most immediate difference Wyatt noticed between Kieran and Dutch, besides the obvious discrepancy in experience, was the sounds they made. Each were intoxicating in their own way, but there was something unspeakably attractive about the way Kieran whimpered and mewled and whined. No words, not intelligible ones, just noise; Dutch had never shut up in the moment, and even though he had been babbling praise and affirmation, Wyatt never really liked his partners vocal. Loud, sure, but not talkative.

And Kieran didn't seem to be capable of speech at the moment, clutching desperately at Wyatt's hair with one hand and his shoulder with the other, breaking their kiss to yelp in surprise when the speed and depth of his thrusts picked up. "Wyatt," he managed, gasping and panting, trembling head-to-toe, "Wyatt, I-"

"You alright?" Wyatt asked, propping himself up a bit to look down at Kieran. He was a gorgeous wreck, flushed and sweaty with his hair mussed. It took all of his self-control not to kiss him again. "Talk to me, Kieran, I gotta know you're okay."

"I'm fine," he whimpered, his hands trailing to Wyatt's back, his nails digging into his shoulders for a moment. "I... d-didn't know it could feel s-so good..."

"Well... glad I'm makin' you feel good." Wyatt proceeded to lay kisses on Kieran's forehead, cheek, jaw, anywhere he could reach. "You gettin' close again?"

"Y-yeah, I... I'm sorry-"

"Don't apologize... m'close, too. You want me to finish inside you, or not?"

"I... I-" Kieran gasped and cried out, loud and broken, when Wyatt's cock pressed against that magic spot that had made him come like crazy earlier. "GaaaaaaahhIdon'tcarejustplease-!" The sentence came tumbling out in one breath, almost as one word, before Kieran tensed hard and then unwound with a long whine. "I love you," he panted as he did, his cock twitching and spurting cum onto their stomachs, "I love you, oh god, I love you!"

Wyatt barely had enough time to react; he pulled out at basically the last second to come over Kieran's stomach and sensitive cock, letting out a throaty groan as he did. "Shit, Kieran..." He stroked both of their cocks in one hand, slowly, relishing the low whining noise Kieran made as he did. "Goddamn."

Kieran shuddered beneath him, all four limbs trembling. "You okay, precious?" Wyatt asked, using his forearm to wipe sweat from his brow.

"Uh-huh..."

"Okay. You gonna be alright for a second while I get somethin' to clean us up with?"

"Uh-huh."

"Good." Wyatt untangled himself from Kieran and almost winced when his bare foot met the cold floor of the room. He padded to the tiny shaving station the hotel provided (fancy Saint Denis hotels!), wet a towel, and returned to the bed, using the damp cloth to wipe away the come on Kieran's body (and his own, though he had to note he was considerably less wrecked than Kieran was).

He discarded the towel on the floor unceremoniously, and lay beside Kieran, gathering him into an embrace. "Shhh. You sure you're okay?"

"M'good." At least he seemed to be capable of actual speech now. Kieran tucked his head under Wyatt's chin, still trembling. "I... I love you."

"I love you, too. Shhhh, now." Wyatt ran his hands over Kieran's trembling arms in an attempt to soothe him. "I got you, beautiful. I got you."

Eventually, Kieran's shuddering slowed, then stopped. He sighed quietly as he nestled into his partner, attempting to find a comfortable position. "... Y-you know, I... I wasn't just sayin' stuff because we were..."

"I know, precious, I know." Wyatt smiled warmly, carded his fingers through Kieran's hair. "And I love you, too. Now, get some rest... before round two."


	8. It Was All A Trap.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dutch fucks up, and Wyatt gets to play hero. Sort of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY DO YOU EVER JUST REMEMBER YOU HAVE A LONG FIC IN PROGRESS

Their relationship was a gentle, comfortable one, punctuated by chaste good night kisses, good morning kisses, the two of them sitting beneath a shady tree with Kieran snuggled into Wyatt's side, Wyatt reading in a voice that was just loud enough for Kieran and no one else to hear. Sometimes, Kieran was asleep, and Wyatt was really reading to no one but himself, but he didn't seem to mind. It was enough to have his partner dozing soundly, curled up to him catlike, for him to be content.

They'd both dozed off like that one lazy, humid afternoon, the book still open on Wyatt's chest. When Arthur had the photograph developed, he handed it over to Wyatt; he promptly tucked it safely into his satchel. If Arthur could have a collection of sentimental knick-knacks, so could he. He resolved it wouldn't be the last, and- big dreamer that he was, that he'd always been- one day when he and Kieran ran away together and settled somewhere, happy and stable and far from their brushes with the law, they'd get a real portrait taken, like married couples and families did. He could see that. Both of them dressed in their Sunday best, wearing steely gazes for the photographer but posed in a way that just barely, if you squinted, suggested more than friendship, maybe the fingers of one hand were entwined or one was gazing lovingly at the other. The thought alone was enough to make him want to run out and get a ring then and there, beg Kieran on bended knee to marry him, run away and settle in as ranch hands or something, make sure no one- absolutely no one- took his sweet boy away from him.

So, of course, when Kieran rode out on a job- his first _real job_ since the gang accepted him as one of their own, god, he was so excited- with Dutch, Arthur, and Micah, Wyatt worried himself sick. He busied himself as well as he could, chopping firewood and moving hay bales to the feeding point, brushing Denver and playing a couple rounds of dominoes with Tilly Jackson, one of the few people who seemed to have no issue with his presence, but the worry still nagged him. At the back of his brain, just loud enough to be annoying, a little voice kept telling him that he should have gone with them, or at least gone in Kieran's place. Kieran had no business being in the field. He was too gentle, too sweet, too innocent; he was going to get hurt.

And when three came back instead of four, Wyatt felt his blood turn to ice for a minute. "Where's Kieran?" he asked, his voice heavy with fear as Arthur dismounted Orion, his black standardbred. "Where's Kieran, goddammit?!" Wyatt repeated when he didn't get an answer.

"Don't know," Dutch answered, hitching his own horse. Only then did Wyatt notice how disheveled and panicked the returning members of the gang- sans Micah, who seemed almost eerily calm- looked. "We... it was a trap. We had to run like hell so we didn't get killed-"

"And you left Kieran?!" Wyatt grabbed Dutch by the shoulders, panic etched into his features. "Dutch-!"

"I swear, I thought he was behind us!"

Wyatt tensed, made a noise somewhere between a groan and a scream of frustration, and darted to his horse. Denver snorted a little in surprise as Wyatt practically vaulted into the saddle after rapidly untying his reins, spurring him to a gallop as quickly as he could with a sharp "hyah!" before leaving the camp in a cloud of dust.

For the first time in years, as he raced down the dried out, red clay roads of Lemoyne for what felt like hours, Wyatt found himself praying.

_I know I ain't the best man on Earth, far from it._ Tears burned his eyes, Denver whinnied his discontent at being spurred again. _But if you're listenin', please, God, keep him safe. He's the best thing to happen to me in a long, long time. Please, don't take him from me._ The burning tears flowed down his face as he white-knuckled the reins, Denver's flaxen mane flowing in his face and tickling his skin. Normally, it would make him smile to feel it, but as the sun dipped below the horizon, he only wanted to cry harder. As the moon rose and provided some amount of light, Wyatt still lit a dim lantern, slowing Denver to a canter when he threatened to buck him off.

A horse coming toward him with a slumped figure in the saddle caught his attention. He lifted the lantern a bit and tilted it toward the horse, almost feeling the recognition flit over his features when he spotted the telltale nick out of Branwen's ear. "Kieran?" he asked, bringing Denver to a halt and managing to catch Branwen, who nickered at Denver affectionately. So innocent. He had no idea. "Kieran!"

The rider groaned and tried to get out of the saddle, but succeeded only in falling to the ground. Rounding Branwen as quick as he could without spooking him, Wyatt sighed in relief when the lantern illuminated Kieran's features. The relief faded as quick as it had come, though, when he spotted the cuts and bruises on Kieran's face, and most glaring of all, the buckshot in his shoulder. "Kieran..."

"It... was a trap..." he croaked, as Wyatt attached the lantern to his gun belt and scooped his partner up with strength he didn't realize he had. "It was all... a trap..."

"Shhh, precious. I gotcha." Wyatt hefted his lover across Denver's hindquarters, just behind the saddle. Clicking to Branwen and giving him a soft 'come on, boy', he mounted his own horse and tore back toward camp, stopping for no one and nothing until he reached Clemens Point.

"Who goes there?!" Javier called from the bush.

"Wyatt! I got Kieran!"

The flurry of activity was immediate and dizzying, and Wyatt had barely hitched Denver when Arthur and Charles were pulling Kieran down from the palomino's back. He hitched Branwen in turn, then sprinted towards Arthur and Charles, who were currently laying Kieran down on his bedroll.

Kieran yelped in pain as his shoulder was jostled, panting through the agony as Wyatt knelt beside him. "Kieran, what happened...?"

"I... C-Colm, he..."

"Don't." Charles shooed Arthur out of the tent. "I'm going to get Strauss and the Reverend. They can get you something for the pain, maybe get that buckshot out of your shoulder. Wyatt?"

Wyatt looked up, green eyes full of tears.

"You're going to need to get out of the way so they can work."

"... I can't leave him, Charles."

"I know, but you have to. Come on." Charles placed a broad, comforting hand on Wyatt's shoulder, then helped him to his feet. "You can come back as soon as they're done."

The next two hours were torture. Wyatt settled himself on a crate, his face in his hands, wincing every time he heard Kieran cry out or sob or beg Strauss and Reverend Swanson to stop, please, it hurts, just leave him alone. Every cell in his body wanted to go to him, take his hand and soothe him as the camp medics picked shrapnel from his skin, cleaned and bandaged the wound, and medicated him enough to hopefully stave off infection. When the urge grew too strong, he stood and paced instead, enough that Arthur eventually halted him and handed him a bottle of whiskey, saying it would help his nerves. It did, a bit, the burn of the alcohol down his throat giving him something to focus on besides the panic, but every time Kieran screamed and cried, Wyatt wanted to cry with him.

Eventually, what felt like an eternity later, Strauss and Swanson stepped out of the tent, exchanged a few quiet words, then Swanson approached Wyatt, who had resumed his position on the crate holding his head in his hands. "Mr. Conaway?"

"Reverend." Wyatt didn't look up.

"We've got him more or less stable if you want to see him. He's a little out of it and that gunshot wound in his shoulder is probably gonna develop a nasty infection, but you can-"

Wyatt stood and practically shoved Swanson aside, making a beeline for his and Kieran's tent. He stepped in, trying not to get misty-eyed at the sight of Kieran, sweet little angel, _his_ little angel, bandaged haphazardly, blood already staining the bandages on his shoulder. "Kieran..."

"Wyatt...?" Kieran asked woozily, reaching up for him with his good arm. Wyatt took his hand and settled beside him, briefly pondering how to pull him close without jarring his injured shoulder.

"Shhh, precious. I'm here." Wyatt pressed a gentle kiss to Kieran's forehead, maneuvering them gently, oh so goddamn gently, so Kieran's head was rested in his lap. "I'm here, now."

Kieran winced and whimpered at even the slightest touch to his shoulder. "I... it hurt... w-wanted you..."

"I know, angel, I know. They had to patch you up. I gotcha now. I gotcha." Wyatt stroked Kieran's hair gently, taking a deep breath to stave off tears. "Sweet boy. You didn't deserve this... I shoulda gone, Kieran. I told you."

"You... no one.... no one knew." Kieran clung to Wyatt's arm when it draped over him, almost like a child to a rag doll. "I... m'so tired."

"Then sleep. I'm here. I won't let nothin' happen. Promise."


	9. One More Chapter?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kieran and Wyatt make their escape from the Van der Linde gang.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so uh. this is shaping up to be a lot longer than i actually thought it was gonna be. we're gonna have at least two or three more chapters after this lads

True to Swanson's prediction, Kieran's gunshot wound developed a rather serious infection, and Wyatt- even through members of the camp popping in and out, Strauss and the Reverend to administer medicine and change bandages and others to check in, occasionally to bring Wyatt something to read or eat even if he didn't want it- left Kieran's side as little as possible. He couldn't bring himself to do so for more than absolutely necessary; the one time Susan Grimshaw insisted he at least wash up a little he'd basically splashed cold water on himself and darted back to Kieran's side. He read to him, usually fairy tales that little Jack Marston had let him borrow ("and tell Mr. Kieran I'm sorry I threw rocks at him," he'd said in the most innocent, apologetic little voice), stories that- even if Kieran didn't fully understand what was going on due to being delirious with fever- seemed to soothe him into sleep, something they both sorely needed.

Worst of all were the nights where neither slept, where Kieran drifted in and out of coherence, tossing and turning and dripping with sweat, his fever both exhausting him and forcing him to stay awake. Those were the nights Wyatt sat up beside him, stroked his hair and held his hand, dabbed away the sweat with a cool, damp cloth, and worried. Worried endlessly, squeezing Kieran's hand every now and then and whispering that it was okay, he was there, he wasn't gonna let anything happen to him. Not again. He wouldn't admit it, but he let himself cry one night, when Kieran finally managed to drift into a fitful sleep after Swanson gave him a dose of medication to cool the fever. He cried, and he cursed his own cowardice and stupidity, Dutch's cowardice and stupidity, everyone who had hurt Kieran, asked why they would go after someone so clearly sweet, innocent, harmless? Kieran had a hard time killing mosquitoes, for Christ's sake, why would anyone ever want to hurt him? Because he associated with Dutch? Dutch's insane plans had nothing to do with him.

Slowly, eventually, Kieran was weaned off the medication, and for the first time in what felt like ages, Wyatt let himself sleep. The black embrace of slumber felt better than anything he'd felt before, the bags and dark circles under his eyes betraying his exhaustion to anyone who cared to look.

"Wyatt..."

Kieran's weak, raspy voice woke him in the middle of the night; in the week-and-a-half that had passed, Kieran's fever had lessened (but not broken), and the infection seemed a little less angry. "Mmh. What is it, angel?"

"... M'scared."

"Scared?" Wyatt turned over with a yawn, taking Kieran's hand and kissing his temple gently. If nothing else, Kieran had graduated to sleeping on his side, still a little listless and fatigued. "Scared of what?"

"... I don't want to die," Kieran whispered. "I'm... I don't wanna..."

"Shhh. You ain't gonna die." Wyatt gave his partner's hand a reassuring squeeze. "You're gettin' better, sweetheart. Strauss and Swanson say you should be back on your feet soon."

"No, I... bein'... bein' taken like that, I..." Kieran swallowed hard, teary-eyed. "I wanna get out."

"... Out?"

"... Out of here. Out of the life. I... I don't wanna be an outlaw no more." Kieran sniffled a little. "But I don't wanna leave you, and-"

"Hey. Hey, hey, no, it's okay. Don't cry." Wyatt pulled Kieran in close, gently, to avoid hurting his shoulder. "... Look, if you want out, we'll get out, and I'll come with you. I ain't lettin' you go alone anyway, not after this." He pressed a gentle kiss to his lover's forehead. "... Just gotta find out how. I don't think Dutch is too fond of people leavin'."

"He keeps sayin' this ain't a prison camp, and if people wanna leave, they can, but... then he goes on and on about traitors an' turncoats, and... I don't wanna piss him off."

"Okay, well... it's gonna take thought, but we'll make it out. Promise."

It took several more weeks of planning, a few whispers to everyone Wyatt at least sort of trusted not to tell Dutch, but he found his way. Deep in the night, well after everyone save for the night guards had gone to bed, Wyatt shouldered the bag of his earthly possessions. "Ready to go, precious?"

"Almost." Kieran moved to step out of their rickety lean-to- 'we'll buy the stuff to make shelter on the way out' Wyatt said, afraid the noise from dismantling it would alert Dutch- then paused. "Oh, wait. I need Horsey."

"...What? Who?"

Kieran winced a little. "I, um... I wasn't gonna tell you about him. You'd laugh. Most everyone else does."

"Whatever you're talkin' about, I promise I won't laugh."

Kieran sighed, picked up the straggling blanket he'd been reluctant to pack earlier, and revealed a little ragdoll horse. It was made from gingham check cotton, with a yarn mane and tail and little black button eyes. "This... this is Horsey." Kieran blushed as he picked up the little stuffed animal by its left front leg. "I've had him since I was a kid. I... people laugh when they see him, but..."

"Hey. I ain't gonna laugh at you." Wyatt smiled, gave Kieran a reassuring pat on the back. "C'mon. We can't lollygag if we wanna get out before Dutch is awake. Get your little buddy there and let's go, angel."

Denver and Branwen expressed only minor discontent at having most of Wyatt and Kieran's possessions hefted onto their backs, the pony snorting and giving Wyatt the closest thing to the stink eye a horse could give. "Quit your complainin'," Wyatt warned, patting the stallion's neck as he hefted himself into the saddle. Watching Kieran leg himself up and settle onto Branwen, the two moved slowly at first; passing Lenny and Javier on night watch, they nodded briefly to them before spurring their horses to a canter, then a gallop once they were positive they were out of earshot of the camp.

The ride took days, nearly a week, but it wasn't a week Wyatt would trade for anything. There was something magical about sleeping under the stars with Kieran beside him- or more often, curled up in his arms- and waking with the sun to that sweet face still sound asleep. Wyatt found himself getting into a routine, really, waking up first and brewing a pot of coffee, maybe getting something cooked for breakfast if he could, then waking Kieran with a gentle nudge on the shoulder and a kiss on the cheek. "Good morning, angel," he'd say as he handed Kieran his coffee (which he really didn't seem to like, but drank anyway), Kieran answering him with a vague, sleepy grunt with his little ragdoll horse either clasped in his hand or sitting on his lap. Kieran was never very talkative in the mornings. Wyatt didn't mind it; he was content to sit in peace and quiet and do most of the talking. Every now and then if they'd been lucky enough to pass through a town of any real size, he'd read Kieran something from the newspaper. Hell, one afternoon during a break in travel he'd broken out the novel he'd bought in a bookstore in Saint Denis well before they left- _The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes_ \- and laid underneath a large oak tree in a warm, sunny meadow. He'd been reading for about five minutes before Kieran curled up beside him and laid his head on Wyatt's chest, brought a hand up to play with the button on the breast pocket of Wyatt's jacket- opening and closing it again and again, for no obvious reason, but Wyatt didn't mind- and gazed up at him for a moment. "Want me to read to you?" Wyatt had asked, and Kieran nodded in return, and he hung on every single word.

At the end of one chapter, as Wyatt took a drink of water and cleared his throat, Kieran looked up at him with those damn eyes of his, big grey eyes that sent Wyatt's heart aflutter, and asked, "You think someday you could teach me how to read?"

"I could try," Wyatt answered. "Ain't never taught anyone to read before."

"I... I never wanted to, before," Kieran admitted, "But... havin' you around, and... you readin' to me... kind of makes me want to."

"What, you don't like when I read to you?" Wyatt asked teasingly, giving Kieran a little elbow in the ribs. Kieran's eyes widened, and for a minute, he looked genuinely hurt. "I'm kiddin', I'm kiddin'. I'll do what I can for you, angel, alright?" he said, pressing a gentle kiss to Kieran's forehead. Kieran relaxed a little and smiled, leaning against Wyatt again.

"... One more chapter?"

"Alright. One more. Then we gotta get goin', alright?"


	10. The Best Damn Ranch Hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wyatt and Kieran find safety, and Kieran finds reading isn't as easy as it looks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOO OKAY I HAVE A BUNCH OF CHAPTERS OF THIS TO POST NOW. rip my hands

"And remember, boys," the owner of the ranch- one Neil Powell- began as he handed Wyatt the key to the little two-room shack on his property, "Rent's free so long as you pull your weight around here. You're the first fellers been willin' to come up here for a while, with those damn Skinner boys runnin' around." He tipped his hat to Wyatt and Kieran in turn. "Mr. Bennett, Mr. Turner. Settle on in. I expect you up bright and early tomorrow. We got horses need fed and cows need milked."

"Absolutely." Wyatt returned the hat tip as Kieran unlatched their saddle bags from Branwen and Denver. "We'll be the best damn ranch hands you ever had, Mr. Powell. Swear by it."

"You best be."

And with that, Powell took his leave, and Wyatt unlocked and pushed open the door to their new home. West Elizabeth, not far from the border with New Austin. Dutch wouldn't- rather, he couldn't- look for them here. They were safe here. They had to be. "Not a bad little place," Wyatt said as he entered the shack behind Kieran, "If you don't mind a little dust."

"Well... good thing I don't." Kieran smiled as he sat their bags down. "One bed. You think they knew...?"

"Out here, angel, they don't ask many questions of their ranch hands. Probably just assume." Wyatt shrugged. "I'm gonna finish bringin' in our things. You can get a fire goin', right?"

A bit later, with the fire lit and a poorly cooked dinner of rabbit stew eaten, Wyatt reached for his satchel and pulled out the Holmes novel. "We never did finish this, did we, angel?"

"We didn't," Kieran confirmed. "Um... when are you gonna teach me to read? I... I can't write, neither, so-"

"We'll get there. Right now, we oughta just celebrate bein' safe. And far away from everythin' that happened in Lemoyne." Wyatt settled back on the bed, patting the spot next to him for Kieran. He didn't immediately open the book as Kieran snuggled into his side, instead opting to stroke a hand through Kieran's hair and kiss him gently. "I love you."

Kieran blushed and giggled, like Wyatt hadn't said that more times than either could count, and lay his head on his chest, the usual spot he liked. "I love you, too," he whispered back, clutching Wyatt's shirt in his hand and making a quiet noise of contentment when Wyatt opened the book and began reading. He wasn't paying much attention to the words- he was fairly sure they'd already gone through this part, and Wyatt was trying to find where they'd been before their travels brought them to Powell Ranch- but he loved the sound of Wyatt's voice. He spoke gently when he read, like no one but Kieran should know what he was saying. His deep voice warmed Kieran to his very core, like being wrapped up in a fuzzy blanket.

Sleep overtook him shortly after, and he only faintly felt Wyatt's fingers brush through his hair as he shifted to get comfortable himself.

\---  
Ranch hand work was nothing they weren't used to. Milking cows, mucking stalls, feeding horses; all of it was second nature to Kieran and a quick learn for Wyatt. He watched with pride as Kieran spoke gently to the horses as he fed them (and slipped Branwen an extra sugar cube when the other hands weren't looking), helped an inexperienced young man aid a mare in foaling, bottle fed a rejected little calf. Kieran had a way with animals Wyatt didn't fully understand, but he loved watching him interact with them.

When the chores were done, Wyatt and Kieran would retreat to their shack and get to work on those reading lessons Wyatt promised. Kieran was somehow further behind than Wyatt had thought, not even having the alphabet memorized. He sat and watched, occasionally jumping in to guide Kieran's hand to form the letters- sloppily, capital then lowercase, using his own letters as a guide- on the page. "You're doin' fine," he reassured him when Kieran got frustrated almost to the point of tears. "Let's just keep tryin'." He laid his hand over Kieran's and gently guided him in writing the capitals first; A (for apple), B (for bear), C (for cat). He taught him how to spell his own name- "K like kind, I like ice, E like ear, R like red, A like apple, N like nose"- and Wyatt didn't think he'd ever forget the pride on Kieran's face when he did it himself for the first time. In fact, he wasn't sure he could, when he'd come barreling out to the corral while Wyatt was feeding the cows, yelling "I did it! Babe, I did it!" waving a piece of paper, then shown him a sloppy but legible "Kieran" on the page. The K was backwards, and the capitalization was all over the place, but it was something. "Good job, angel," Wyatt had said, giving Kieran a kiss on the forehead before shooing him back into their cabin.

Eventually, he was trying to blunder his way through Wyatt's novels, though the first time he tried to read Sherlock Holmes for himself he got frustrated enough to actually cry, throwing the book on the ground and sobbing about being stupid. Wyatt simply moved to his side, wrapped him up in his arms, comforted him, and offered to start with something a little simpler. Kieran sniffled, wiped his eyes, and nodded, and the next day Wyatt set off into town to try and find something that would work; his books, evidently, were all a bit too advanced for a feller just learning to read.

He found it in the form of several primers and lesson plans- "as many as you got," he'd said to the store owner, who proceeded to give him one copy of ten different lessons (at a goddamn dollar a piece, and Wyatt had left muttering about daylight robbery)- meant for small children, but they would do the job. Sitting Kieran down where ever he was most comfortable, usually at the table if he could help it, he breezed through the first couple of lessons easily- 'I see a man' and 'I see a dog' were easy enough- but added complexity threw him off guard. "Sound it out, precious," Wyatt encouraged, gently pointing to each word.

Kieran licked his lips nervously and trembled out his attempt. "A... ho... horse... and... a... c... colt?"

"Good. Keep going."

"The... horse... l-loves... her... colt."

"Good! See, you ain't stupid. You just needed to start smaller." Wyatt pressed a gentle kiss to Kieran's temple, smiled warmly at him. "You're gonna be a man of words yet, Kieran."

"Thank you." Kieran almost giggled at the kiss, feeling a smile spread across his face before he really registered that it did. "Wyatt, I... you think we're safe here?"

"I'm sure. Why?"

"'Cause... I mean, between Dutch, and the O'Driscolls, and the law, I... I dunno, I got a lot of people chasin' me..."

"Oh, angel. You know I ain't gonna let nothin' happen to you." Wyatt moved the primer aside. "I think it's break time, anyway. " He helped Kieran to his feet, brushed a lock of hair from his face, kissed the spot his fingers had gingerly touched. "I love you, precious."

"I love you, too." Kieran wrapped his arms around Wyatt's neck and sighed happily when their foreheads touched. He did giggle, this time, when Wyatt pressed a kiss to his nose. "Wyatt..."

"What?" Wyatt smiled, green eyes shining with mischief. "Would you rather I do this?"

"Do wh-" And that was as far as Kieran got before Wyatt pounced, tickling him up and down his ribcage until he was doubled over laughing, swatting desperately at Wyatt's hands.


	11. No Plans To

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kieran has a nightmare. Wyatt settles him down in the best way possible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heard yall wanted another gratuitous porn chapter

Wyatt assumed Kieran didn't dream. He seemed to sleep like a rock, especially now that they were safe and warm in an actual building with a fireplace, real sheets, a real mattress. He'd go to sleep, and when he woke up, Kieran would be in the exact same position he'd been in eight hours ago, always clutching his little stuffed horse by that one specific leg.

All that changed when Kieran woke him in the middle of the night, shaking him by the shoulder and repeating his name- "Wyatt, wake up, please, Wyatt"- and Wyatt grunted awake, trying to bat Kieran away. "M'sleepin'," he groaned drowsily. "S'not even sunrise yet."

"Wyatt, please."

Then Wyatt realized Kieran was crying. Like a flipped switch, he was at attention in a second, gathering Kieran into his lap and kissing his forehead. "Angel, shhh, it's alright... I'm here... what's wrong?" Kieran sniffled, sobbed, nuzzled into Wyatt's neck and clung to his shoulders. "Kieran... c'mon, precious, talk to me."

"I... they..." Kieran sobbed, his breath catching in his throat as he buried his face against Wyatt's neck, "Th-they came for me, and... and you weren't around, you couldn't... they hurt me, Wyatt, th-they-"

"Shhhh, shhh, angel. Calm down." Wyatt tried to sway Kieran softly, a gentle rocking motion, hoping it would soothe him. "Slow down... what do you mean? You have a bad dream?" Kieran nodded and sobbed again as Wyatt tried ignore the wetness of tears on his skin. That would leave an unpleasant cold spot, but that wasn't what was important. No, not when his angel needed him. "It was just a dream, precious. Just a dream." Wyatt kissed the top of Kieran's head, then his forehead. "Just a dream," he repeated, bringing one hand up to gently wipe away the tears on his cheeks. "No cryin', precious. Not on my watch."

That made Kieran smile and laugh weakly, if nothing else. Wyatt smiled back and gently stroked Kieran's cheekbone with his thumb, brushing away the tear tracks, leaning in and kissing him where ever he could reach- forehead, nose, cheeks, chin, lips- and whispering soft reassurances to him. "It's okay. It's alright. I'm here. Nothing's gonna happen to you while I'm here."

Kieran sniffled a little, though his tears seemed to have stopped, and scooted a bit closer to Wyatt, practically into his lap. "Kiss me again," he whispered, voice still thin and breaking, but Wyatt complied, their lips meeting in a slow, soft kiss that intensified without either of them realizing it. Wyatt's tongue teased at Kieran's lower lip, asking permission, permission Kieran granted by melting against him and opening his mouth. Wyatt gently lay him back down in bed, one hand cradling Kieran's head and the other exploring his body, gently stroking and caressing him where he could reach, their kiss never quite breaking until Wyatt pulled back, putting on Kieran's shoulders more for show than anything.

"... You... um... you okay with this?"

Kieran nodded, licking his lips. "I... Wyatt, you know I love you... you ain't gotta ask."

"I just thought you might not be in the mood, after that dream you had." Wyatt sat back on his haunches a bit, stroking his hands down Kieran's body, taking in his fragile frame under the cotton night robe he wore to bed- a night robe a few sizes too big, Wyatt noted, by the way the collar slid down and the sleeves hung over his hand, something he hadn't really noticed before- then leaning in again to kiss his lover's neck. "So... you're sure?"

"Mmhm," Kieran purred, his arms coming up to wrap around Wyatt's shoulders. "I love you..."

"I know, precious. I love you, too." Wyatt sat up again. "C'mon. Get that silly robe off, it's eatin' you alive," he said with a smile, helping Kieran out of the oversized garment and holding back a soft moan at the sight of his naked body. "God. You're gorgeous, you know?" he whispered, feeling Kieran's fingertips tease beneath his undershirt and push it over his head, a movement Wyatt aided by lifting his arms. "I gotta be the luckiest man on the planet."

"Hush." Kieran was rapidly turning pink, a shade that complimented him well. Wyatt grinned and pulled his undershorts down, throwing them somewhere across the room; where they landed he wasn't sure, nor did he care. He had a beautiful, nude man beneath him, one who responded to every touch and kiss and caress loudly and enthusiastically.

Their hands roamed each others' bodies, touching and grabbing and stroking needily, Wyatt trailing kisses from Kieran's chest to his stomach and back up, gentle and sweet and loving. Kieran squirmed and mewled beneath him, his cock growing hard surprisingly quickly and his little noises and movements making Wyatt's dick twitch with need. "How do you want-"

"Just like this," Kieran pleaded, cutting Wyatt's sentence off, "Please... wanna look at you."

"Alright, alright... be patient." Wyatt laughed softly, then moved to dig through their nightstand drawers. He cursed quietly under his breath ("goddammit, really need to find a spot just for this, fuck sake") until he got ahold of the tin of Vaseline and slicked his cock gently. Kieran shivered and bit his lip as blunt pressure pushed against his entrance, then cried out when he was breached, digging his nails into Wyatt's shoulders.

Wyatt hissed quietly as he began moving, slow, gentle, making love to Kieran more than anything. He lowered himself atop him and kissed him, started with his lips then moved to his nose, took the opportunity when Kieran closed his eyes and furrowed his brow to kiss his eyelids. "So beautiful," he breathed, hips rocking of their own accord, "M'so fuckin' lucky, Kieran, my god, so lucky..." He found himself cut off by a soft grunt from his own lips and a high-pitched whine from Kieran's as he drove himself in deeper.

Their movements were slow and deliberate, tender, almost like Wyatt was afraid Kieran would break under anything harsher. "I love you." His words were soft and sweet. "I love you, Kieran, goddamn, I love you... fuckin'... never let anything happen to you, I promise..." He silenced the both of them with a kiss, watching Kieran's face for any sign of discomfort or pain as he moved a little harder, a little faster. Kieran mewled and squeaked adorably, squirming beneath Wyatt and tangling his fingers into his hair, but didn't seem to be in pain. Good.

"Wyatt, ahhh, W-Wyatt...! Mmh, l-love you," Kieran whimpered, "Love you, so much..."

"I know, precious, I know." More soft kisses, slightly harder, deeper thrusts, and Wyatt felt Kieran's hands bunch into fists in his hair. Underneath him, he gasped and whimpered, tensing up like a spring. "Gettin' close, angel?" A harsh nod. "S'okay. Go ahead... m'not gonna last long after you, s'alright."

As if all he needed was permission, Kieran unwound beneath him, whining and gasping out breathless repetitions of Wyatt's name and endless "I love you"s, his hands moving from Wyatt's hair to his cheeks and pulling him in, their foreheads pressed together. Wyatt growled deep in his throat and moved to pull out, only for Kieran to wind his legs around his waist and pull him in. "Kieran-?"

"Been long enough," Kieran panted, the sweat on his skin almost making him glow in the dim moonlight, "Y-you can... I trust you..."

Wyatt didn't have time to ask if he was positive before he came, hard, shuddering and gripping at the sheets white-knuckle, panting as the waves of ecstasy crashed over him until he couldn't see straight, then receded as quickly as they'd arrived. For a moment, the pair lay in the afterglow, trembling and panting and kissing one another, before their kiss broke and Wyatt couldn't help but chuckle.

"What? What's so funny?"

"Nothin', precious. You just look so sweet right now. All worn down n' tired n' sweaty. Your hair's a mess."

"Me? You ain't in any better shape."

Soft laughter- tempered only momentarily by Kieran whimpering as Wyatt pulled out of him- filled the room as the pair curled up to one another, still naked and drowsy and satisfied, the blankets a tangled mess around them. "You gonna be okay, angel?" Wyatt whispered, his fingers stroking through Kieran's hair gently. "You know I ain't gonna let anything happen to you."

"I know." Kieran sighed happily as he nuzzled into Wyatt's neck, the same spot he'd cried into earlier. "Mm. Don't ever leave me."

"No plans to, darlin'," Wyatt whispered, as Kieran's breathing evened out and he drifted back to sleep. "No plans to."


	12. Eternity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wyatt has a very important question to ask.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> enjoy this cuteness while u can ;3

Sometimes, Wyatt hesitated to leave bed in the mornings, entranced by the sight of Kieran sound asleep and curled up close to him. Sometimes, he physically couldn't, because Kieran had wound himself around him and refused to move, even if he was awake. "Angel, I gotta feed the cows," Wyatt would try. "Horses need turned out," still nothing. "Kieran, seriously, let me up. I gotta piss." That would work, even though Kieran would whine the entire time, and nine times out of ten would reach out for him and make this adorably pathetic whimpering noise when he walked by the bed again, and nine times out of ten Wyatt would sigh fondly, shake his head, and oblige, laying beside him again for just a few more minutes.

Kieran had a way of twisting himself to fit the contours of Wyatt's body, staying as close to him as physically possible. Wyatt didn't mind, of course, more than happy to hold him tight and stroke his hair as he dozed. He'd whisper to him when he did, sometimes; "I love you. I love you so goddamn much. You're the best thing to happen to me, Kieran Duffy," he'd breathe to the still morning air, as Kieran slept soundly, tucked into the warmth and safety of his partner's arms. He'd kiss his forehead, run his fingers through his hair again, soft and fine, and relish the texture of it. "I love you." Sometimes, that was all he could muster to whisper to him, the rest of his vocabulary leaving him entirely, and sometimes he couldn't come up with anything at all, left gazing at him, awestruck and silent.

One morning, when Kieran woke before him, kissed him awake, and smiled warmly at him while greeting him with "Mornin', handsome," Wyatt swore he felt a realization hit him like a ton of bricks. Those beautiful gray eyes sparkled with so much affection, pure and unfaltering, and he'd smiled so sweetly, so genuinely, that Wyatt swore he felt his heart go aflutter. "How'd you sleep?" Kieran asked as he lay his head on Wyatt's chest, and it took Wyatt a moment to find his words. Even when he did, all he could answer with was "Fine," before he pulled Kieran up into a kiss. They didn't leave bed for another hour, tangled in each other and the sheets, gentle touches and whispers escalating until Kieran found himself collapsed atop Wyatt in a panting, shivering pile.

When their eyes met, gray on green, dark with arousal and full of love, Wyatt felt a realization hit him like a ton of bricks.

He'd never felt love like this before, and part of him felt like he would never feel it again. Kieran was something special, something to be held onto and cherished for as long as the powers that be would let him. He deserved to be loved like that.

That evening, Wyatt asked Mr. Powell about a temporary raise- "just a couple of weeks"- and pleaded his way into it. He worked his ass off to prove his worth, earning every cent and then some (and allowing Kieran a little extra time to work on his reading). Mr. Powell handed him the money with what Wyatt swore was pride, saying that he had more than proven he was worth the cost.

It wasn't much. A simple white gold band with small aquamarine and rose quartz inlays. Wyatt vaguely remembered a woman telling him, years ago, that aquamarine had the ability to expel fear and anxiety, and rose quartz was 'the hopeless romantic's stone'. Mostly, he just thought it looked pretty, the bright, shining sky-blue of the aquamarine offset by the pale pink of the rose quartz and the white gold shimmering in the sun the first time he held it up to it. "Perfect," he whispered to no one, tucking it safely into his satchel and proceeding to sit on it for the next two and a half weeks.

"Kieran, I... I got a question for you," he finally managed, clearing his throat as the pair lay on an old blanket in a sunny meadow on a hot afternoon. Kieran looked up at him from the primer he'd been fumbling his way through with a soft, curious noise, almost like a confused kitten. If he'd been unsure before, all of that doubt melted away the second Kieran looked at him like that. _Yep. You're the one,_ he thought as he reached into his satchel. "Angel, I, um... I know it ain't been that long, in the grand scheme of things, and... and I know we can't, you know, in front of God or nothin', but... I've had this in my bag for two weeks now," Wyatt said, moving to one knee and displaying the ring, "And, well, if you don't want it I understand, but... I'd be honored to call you my husband."

A long, heavy pause. Kieran snickered, then burst into musical laughter, that sweet laughter that had captured Wyatt's attention in the first place, but this... this felt like a dagger in the heart. "... You could of said no."

"No, no, that's not..." Kieran laughed quietly and reached for his own satchel before pulling out _another ring_. Again, silence fell, but this time, both of them laughed.

"God, we're useless," Wyatt said with a quiet chuckle. "So I take it you're gonna say yes?"

"If you're sayin' yes to me."

Kieran managed to hold back his tears until Wyatt had the ring firmly on his finger. Then they flowed openly, and Kieran whispered a choked, "Oh, Wyatt, it's perfect," before letting himself curl up close to his partner. He managed to compose himself long enough to slide his ring onto Wyatt's finger, then went back to sobbing into his chest. "God..."

"Shhh, angel. I know they're good tears, but I still hate seein' you cry." Wyatt inspected his new piece of jewelry for a moment, a fond smile on his face. He recognized the design- an Irish love knot- from the various knick-knacks his father's ancestors had brought over from the Emerald Isle itself, but the gem inlaid in them was foreign to him. "What kinda rock is this?"

"Oh, um... i-it's a tiger's eye," Kieran said, sniffing and wiping his eyes. "I, um, the jeweler said that... it's good for helpin' if you're scared all the time, and... well, I am, and you're... you're real good at helpin' me with that."

"Ah, Kieran..." Wyatt felt tears prick his eyes as well, pulling his lover into his lap and kissing him everywhere he could reach, delighting in the little giggles of joy he earned in response, "Goddammit, I love you."

"I love you, too," Kieran answered, wrapping his arms around Wyatt's neck as the two fell back onto the blanket, lips meeting in a soft, loving, but needy kiss.


	13. What Do I Do Now?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wyatt's life is changed forever, in one instant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AAAAAAAAAAAND THE WHUMP CHAPTER IS HERE. im so sorry.
> 
> trigger warning for death, talk of torture, dismemberment, all kinds of nasty stuff tbh

"I'm proud of you."

The words made Kieran furrow his brow and look up from the primer he'd been working in. "What?"

"I'm proud of you. You're doin' so well with your reading. You know, two months ago, you couldn't read or write, neither one, and now look at you." Wyatt lay his hand atop Kieran's, smiling warmly. "You can get through almost that whole primer by yourself."

"Yeah, I... sometimes I practice, while you're busy." Kieran smiled shyly and turned back to the primer, pausing to chew on his pencil before trying to write down a practice sentence. "Thanks, though, um... I ain't never had anyone say they're proud of me before."

"... Really?" Wyatt hoped his shock wasn't too horribly obvious. "That's... angel, that's awful. I'm sorry." He scooted closer to Kieran and leaned over his shoulder, watching him write. Silence fell as Kieran concentrated, his tongue poking out of his mouth a little bit- Wyatt smiled, remembering the first time he'd seen that on their fishing trip back in New Hanover, the first time he'd felt butterflies in his stomach for this adorable man- while he tried his best to write down 'The dog and cat are playing.' "Look at that," Wyatt said with a smile as Kieran finished, "I can read that, precious!" He kissed Kieran's cheek, gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze. "Good job. I'm so proud of you."

Kieran blushed, leaned into his partner's touch for a moment. "Thank you." He giggled happily as Wyatt kissed his cheek again. "Gingersnap, I-"

"That's a new one," Wyatt interrupted. "Finally come up with a name besides Red, huh?"

"Well, you didn't like that one much, and the other day while you were out with the horses Mr. Powell's daughter gave me a gingersnap she made. You're sweet. Like a gingersnap."

Wyatt chuckled and nodded. "Alright. I'll take it. I'm sorry about cuttin' you off, angel, what were you gonna say?"

"Nothin' important. Just... I love you, you know? And... you've done a lot for me that you didn't have to."

"Teachin' you to read? Gettin' you the hell away from Dutch? Those are... angel, those are just the kinds of things you do for someone you love." Wyatt patted Kieran's shoulder gently, kissed the top of his head, and moved to the stove to stoke the fire. "I couldn't sleep at night if I let that maniac get you killed."

Before Kieran could respond, a gentle knock on their door and the creak of the hinges filled the room. "Mr. Bennett, Mr. Turner?" Powell's eldest son said as he entered the room. "I hope I ain't interrupting anything too important, but Pa needs an errand run in town."

Wyatt sighed a little and nodded. "A'course. I'll get on that, Mr. Powell."

Before he'd left, he kissed Kieran on the cheek, ruffled his hair, told him he wouldn't be long- it was just a trip to the post office- and said one more "I love you" before hopping into the drivers' seat of the wagon.

Wyatt meant for it to be a quick trip to the post office, he swore, that was it, but he found himself distracted by the general store. Kieran was doing so well with his reading, surely he deserved a little treat? Candy. Kieran loved candy.

Browsing the books and primers, Wyatt found himself chatting with a little girl who offered her advice- "This one has horses in it," she said, handing him a particular book when he mentioned he had a friend who was learning to read and really liked horses- and, in fact, made him smile, the first time someone who wasn't Kieran had done that in a while.

And he'd packed his satchel full of the primers and books and candy, bid that little girl and her older brother and the shopkeeper farewell, and whistled a tune to himself on the way back to the Powell Ranch, thrilled to get home to Kieran and get him started reading, maybe start with the one with the black horse on the cover. He didn't notice anything was wrong at first, maybe too caught up in his own excitement.

"Kieran! Angel, I'm back! I'm sorry I took so long, but I got you a couple new books and-"

A pause when he noticed the blood on the floor.

"Kieran?" Wyatt called, practically tossing the things he'd just bought aside, not really caring that a couple of the books landed in another spot of blood. "Kieran?! This ain't funny!" He didn't notice his voice breaking, his breathing growing faster and more panicked. "Kieran, come on, joke's over!"

Nothing except silence, the cabin settling around him.

Dawning horror, his blood turning to ice.

"No."

Desperately looking around the room, for anything, any kind of sign, any clue as to what _happened_. His eyes falling on a note on the table.

With trembling hands he reached out, picked it up, tried to steady himself long enough to read.

Kieran's handwriting stood out like a sore thumb, sloppy and full of misspellings and backwards letters. Smudged, running ink rendered a couple of words almost illegible and sent Wyatt's heart plummeting into his feet.

_Ben takin_  
Find me  
Gud luck 

Three lines. Six words.

That was all he needed.

Wyatt grabbed as many guns as he could carry- a repeater, a rifle, two revolvers- and sprinted out of the cabin, saddling up Denver in record time and spurring him into a gallop. Through the panic, he tried to think, tried to concentrate. Charles, bless his soul, had tried his best to teach Wyatt his tracking methods during his time with Dutch's gang.

Bringing Denver to a halt reluctantly, he squinted, examined the ground as closely as he could without dismounting. Hoofprints- a lot of them- headed toward the hills to the northeast. Assuming following the prints would be his best bet, and hoping they weren't from passersby and not whatever monster decided to hurt Kieran, he sent Denver into a gallop again, patting his neck and urging him as calmly as he could when he snorted and offered to buck. "I know, feller," he said, hoping his panic wasn't too evident, "I need you to keep movin'."

The trail of hoofprints eventually gave way to a trail of hoofprints and blood, and Wyatt felt his blood turn to ice. "No," he whispered to nobody, white-knuckling Denver's reins and spurring him on, "No, no, no, no, fuck, no!" Tears burned his eyes, tears he fiercely wiped away in an attempt to stay focused on the trail. His heart stopped when he caught sight of Kieran's hat, sitting on a rock, where the trail veered into the woods. Dismounting Denver and hitching him to a tree, Wyatt made sure he had his small arsenal of weapons and enough ammunition to kill anyone fool enough to approach him, then took a deep breath and followed the trail.

The next little clue came about half a mile down the trail. Kieran's scarf hung from a branch, tattered and torn, and Wyatt felt his stomach turn. Hat. Scarf. Half a mile later, his boots, then a few paces later, a pair of gloves stained with blood. Laid in the palm were two teeth.

Kieran's teeth. They could only be his. Wyatt swore under his breath and picked up his pace, the tears burning his eyes again as he half-ran through the brush, as quick as he could go without tripping. He caught glimpses of other little 'signs' out of the corners of his eyes; spurs, Kieran's shirt torn to shreds, more teeth, what looked like fingers. He didn't stop to think about those too much.

The trail ran out in a clearing, and that was when Wyatt thought he was going to vomit. On the ground, naked, bruised, and bloody, was Kieran. The word 'TRAITOR' was painted on a nearby rock in what Wyatt prayed was red paint, but his gut told him was almost definitely blood. Blood dripped from his mouth, burns littered his body, and... Jesus, what had they done to his hands?!

"Kieran..." Wyatt fell to his knees beside him. The mud, blood, whatever surrounded Kieran didn't matter. "Kieran, angel... talk to me..."

Kieran sobbed, whimpered, tried to turn his head and look up at him, only to howl in pain like a shot deer. Wyatt felt the sob leave him before he could stop it. "What... what happened...?"

Kieran's voice was strained, weak, and Wyatt had to listen hard to make his words out. "Colm..."

The fucking O'Driscolls. Wyatt didn't think they'd chase them this far west, they wouldn't, they couldn't, surely Colm O'-goddamn-Driscoll had better things to do than chase one of his own men down this far, this fast...

"Wyatt..." Kieran's voice caught Wyatt's attention, and he looked down at him, only to force himself not to recoil in horror. One of his cheeks was clean of dirt and blood, presumably from his tears.

The other looked like someone had taken a can of red paint to it. Wyatt followed the trail up, terrified, and felt nausea rush over him when he realized an empty socket was staring back at him. "... No..."

"Wyatt... where... where were you...?"

"I..." Wyatt sobbed. "I was... you were... you were doin' so good with your reading, I was... getting you new books... it doesn't matter." Wyatt tried to pull Kieran into his arms, feeling his sobs intensify as Kieran screamed in agony every time he was jarred slightly. "I'm here now, angel."

"It hurts so bad..."

"I know, I know, hang on, I... I can get you to a doctor, I-"

Kieran sobbed, shook his head. "No... no, I... they..." He pulled his hand back from his stomach, and Wyatt paled. Blood coated his palm, and the wound was so deep he swore he could see muscle fibers. He barely had time to scramble away from Kieran before he vomited, heaves coming between sobs and gasps for air, every bit of food he'd managed to swallow for what felt like the last year coming up. When nothing remained, he crawled back to his partner- his life partner, his fiance, his husband, whatever he wanted to be called- and cradled him. "You're gonna be okay, angel. You're gonna be okay..."

Kieran sobbed a while longer, and Wyatt took a moment to look over the damage. Besides the gaping, massive stab wound, the vast majority of his lower body had been burned horribly, and... oh god, his fingers. Three of them, gone. Both of his trigger fingers, and... and his left ring finger, _those fucking bastards_.

The next words from Kieran's mouth made Wyatt wonder if he hadn't died, and this was Hell.

"Please shoot me."

"... What?"

"I... I ain't gonna make it, Wyatt, please..." Kieran's voice was thin with tears, weak, pitiful. "Please... make it stop..." Thunder rolled in the distance, and Wyatt choked on a sob. "Please..."

"I... Kieran, I... I love you, I..."

"Please, Wyatt, it hurts... it hurts so bad..." Kieran howled in pain as Wyatt tried to pull him closer, green eyes wide and hands trembling. "Please! Please, make it stop!"

"I can't, angel, I..."

"PLEASE!" Kieran practically screamed. "Please, d-don't make... don't make me die like this! Give me a goddamned choice!"

Silence. Thunder rumbled overhead again. The storm was closing in fast. "Kieran..."

"LOOK AT ME!"

He was looking, as much as he desperately wished he wasn't. Even if there was a chance of Kieran surviving the blood loss from the stab wound in his stomach, he'd lost an eye, he'd lost fingers, his legs were almost certainly unusable. "... I'm lookin', angel. I'm lookin'."

"Then please, _please, for Christ's sake_ , just shoot me!"

Wyatt sobbed. "... I..." A heavy pause. He stood on shaky legs, pulled his rifle from his back, aimed squarely at Kieran's head. If nothing else, he deserved to be put down quickly and painlessly, but when he went to put his finger to the trigger, he found himself paralyzed.

His hands shook as he stared down the length of the gun, and for a moment, he found himself _thinking_ , now, of all times.

His hands.

His hands, which had gently laid atop Kieran's that tipsy evening in the Valentine saloon. His hands, which had stroked Kieran's hair as he slept so many nights. His hands that cradled and caressed him that first night they made love, in that fancy hotel room in Saint Denis.

His hands that not a month ago had put a ring on Kieran's finger, a promise to keep him safe forever, a promise he'd broken faster than anything before. His hands that were, now and forever, going to be stained with blood.

"Please, Wyatt," Kieran begged, blood still pouring from his stomach. "Get it overwith..."

"... I love you, angel." Wyatt sobbed quietly. "I love you so much."

Another heavy pause. Wyatt looked over Kieran one more time. He couldn't ask him to do it himself. Even if he was strong enough to end his own misery, his trigger fingers were gone.

"... I'm sorry, precious. I'm so sorry."

"Please, Wyatt. Just do it..."

Closing his eyes, Wyatt took a deep, shuddering breath. "I love you, angel."

"... I love you, gingersnap."

The tears poured as Wyatt pulled the trigger, the sound ringing in his ears louder than any gunfire had before.

Lightning blazed over head, thunder crashed, and rain began pouring down seconds later, and Wyatt was still frozen in place, holding his gun. He fell to his knees, then to all fours, sobbing hysterically, the sound lost in the wind and rain, before managing to crawl himself under a tree for some form of shelter.

The final twist of the dagger came there, when he curled up in the fetal position and looked slightly to his left. Kieran's ring finger.

He only immediately recognized it as Kieran's because of the ring that was still on it. The white gold-rose quartz-aquamarine band was still on his finger.

The O'Driscolls didn't want the money the ring was worth. They just wanted to prove a point. Wyatt winced as he picked up the severed digit, pulling the ring off before clutching the white gold band in his palm, sobbing into the wind, cursing God and all the saints for teasing him with happiness like that and ripping it away, fucking grinding his dreams to ash right when he was letting himself believe that maybe, just maybe, someone out there gave a shit about him.

When the downpour ended and the storm cleared, Wyatt scooped up Kieran's body- still recognizable as Kieran, he briefly thought, as he placed the lifeless corpse over Denver's hindquarters- and, pausing only to steal a shovel from some unfortunate homesteader's unlocked shed, rode into that warm meadow he'd proposed in. Birds chased each other overhead in the dying evening light, chirping merrily like nothing was wrong. Wyatt wanted to shoot each and every one of them. He felt mocked. Mocked by Mother Nature herself. Birds sang above, foxes barked in the distance, and life went on. Life went on, where Wyatt briefly considered turning his gun on himself every time he dug the shovel into the earth. The rain had missed the meadow, apparently, and the soil was dry. For a moment, he felt a little better knowing Kieran wouldn't be put to rest in a cold, _damp_ hole, if nothing else.

The grave wasn't deep, wasn't much. Before laying Kieran in his final resting place, hands crossed over his chest, Wyatt tried to afford him some amount of modesty by wrapping a blanket he'd kept in his saddlebag around him, and pressed a soft kiss to his nose, the way he had to wake him so many mornings prior. Part of him wanted to beg Kieran to wake up, beg _himself_ to wake up, because there was no way this wasn't a bad dream. Any minute he'd wake up in bed at Powell Ranch, and Kieran would be in his arms, sleeping soundly and clutching that ragdoll horse.

The unsettled dirt was covered with rocks when the job was finished, and Wyatt wasn't sure where the tears ended and the sweat began on his face. He'd come back with a cross, a proper marker, later.

For now, he wasn't entirely sure what to do with himself. He couldn't face going back to Powell Ranch, not tonight, not with the blood still on the floor and the books that would never be read, primers never completed, warm nights in front of the fire never shared, kisses never given...

He stayed by Kieran's grave that night.

Part of him expected, when he woke up in the morning after finally crying himself dry, to roll over and be greeted with Kieran smiling back at him.

The sight of cold, gray rocks instead of sweet, gray eyes felt like a kick in the teeth.

He lay there, staring at the grave, for a long while, before he had his first coherent thought in a while.

_What do I do now?_


	14. Everything Ain't Okay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wyatt moves on, physically.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO HEY THIS FIC IS NOT DEAD. this chapter and the next few have been done for quite a while but im gonna try and rewrite 15 onward bc im not v happy w how they turned out. god everyone in this universe needs therapy

Eventually, though he wasn't sure when, Wyatt forced himself to stand. To take down his tent, roll up his bedroll, snuff the fire and pack his saddlebags. Denver nickered at him, nudged him with his nose when he moved to unhitch him, and Wyatt felt tears prick at his eyes. "... What am I gonna do, buddy?" he asked, stroking the pony's neck and sobbing into his forelock. Denver made a quiet noise of what Wyatt swore was understanding, mouthing a little at the button Kieran always liked to fasten and unfasten when he was curled up at Wyatt's side.

It felt like an eternity, standing there with his arms around his horse's neck, crying into Denver's flaxen mane and stroking hands over his golden coat. "Guess if I don't have anyone else," Wyatt managed as Denver nickered at him again, nuzzling him, "I got you."

He hefted himself into the saddle and forced himself not to look back at Kieran's grave as he rode toward Powell Ranch. He couldn't bring himself to go into their cabin. Not yet. Instead, he hitched up Denver and headed for the main house, steeling himself before knocking, and forcing a stoic expression when Mr. Powell answered the door. "... I gotta talk to you, Mr. Powell."

"... Of course. Been wonderin' where you an' your little buddy have been." Neil Powell stepped aside. "C'mon in, Mr. Bennett." Wyatt settled himself on the couch when Powell gestured for him to. "Is... is everything okay? No sign of Mr. Turner or you for a while, there. I was worried."

"No, I... I'm afraid everything ain't okay. Mr. Powell, um... Mr. Turner's dead."

"Oh... I'm so sorry..."

"It's..." Wyatt trailed off. He wanted to say 'it's alright,' but god, it wasn't. It wasn't alright. "... I'm afraid a nastier part of his past caught up to him." Wyatt cleared his throat to force back sobs. "I, um... I can't stay here, Mr. Powell."

"... I understand."

"Our cabin, they.... the people that took him hurt him, and... I just can't stay in it. I'm sorry." Wyatt pulled a couple of bills from his wallet, handed them to Powell. "I just need a couple pieces of wood. Make a marker for the grave. Then I'll be out of your hair."

Powell handed the money back, shaking his head. "You've been nothin' if not a help. Mr. Turner, too. The wood and tools are on me. Take 'em."

With a nod, and possibly the world's briefest hug, Wyatt took his leave. He went to the barn first, finding a couple of spare pieces of wood and decent tools, then headed to the cabin.

He pointedly ignored the dried blood, dropped books and primers, and still-present note to collect his Earthly possessions. Clothes. Money. Some food. Couple bottles of liquor, just in case he needed to drink away the memories. He took Kieran's pillow, not his own, just to smell him for a little while longer.

He paused when he saw the little ragdoll horse. Horsey, Kieran had always called it. He'd slept with it held tight ever since Wyatt had become aware of its existence, and... leaving it didn't seem right. He picked the little toy up by its front left leg, the same one Kieran had always held it by, and tucked it into his satchel before leaving for the last time.

The ride back to the meadow felt like it took a lifetime and a half. Only five miles, and Wyatt wasn't sure he'd ever get where he was going. The cross he fashioned looked terrible- he supposed it would, in a way- and it didn't feel like enough, but what else could he do? He stood at the foot of the grave when he was finished, staring blankly at the mound of rocks and the wooden cross, not sure what he was feeling. Hell, he wasn't sure he was feeling anything. Before he mounted Denver and left, Wyatt gathered some of the meadow wildflowers, laid them atop Kieran's grave. It still didn't feel like it was enough, but as he lay the slapdash bouquet on the cold rocks, he paused to stroke his fingers over Kieran's name carved into the wood and press a soft kiss to it. "I love you," he whispered, one last time.

Hours blurred into days, which blurred into weeks. For a while, he roamed aimlessly, west and north and south and, eventually, east, which he only really noticed when he found himself in Strawberry. He stayed there, for a bit, doing odd jobs at the stables for money and not much else.

Until he heard a familiar voice, one balmy afternoon.

"... Wyatt?"

He winced slightly. "... Charles." Charles Smith was one of the few decent people in Dutch's gang, but the thought of seeing any of them made Wyatt want to kill himself. More than he already did, anyway. "Hell you doin' this far west?"

"Needed some time away from the gang. Said I was going hunting."

"Catch anything?"

"Had to, or it would look suspicious." Charles sat beside Wyatt on the steps to the hotel. "What about you? You and Kieran ran off, and we never knew where."

"... He, um... that incident with the O'Driscolls kinda rattled him. He wanted out. I tried to get him out. We was ranch hands for a while, I..." Wyatt sniffled, feeling a lump growing in his throat, "I was teachin' him to read..."

"... Something happened, didn't it?"

"... I don't wanna talk about it."

"Okay." Charles looked down at his feet. "So... what have you been doing, since...?"

"... Wanderin'." Wyatt chose instead to look at his hands. "Ain't like I got anywhere else to go. I couldn't stay there." He twiddled his thumbs a moment.

"You could come back to the gang."

"Dutch'd have my head."

"... I don't think he would," Charles said softly. "We, um... we've lost some folks, and... things are rough. He'd probably just be grateful for an extra pair of hands. We're stayin' in an actual house, now. Ain't much, but four walls and a roof is better than a tent, isn't it?"

Wyatt had to concede that point. "... Yeah, I guess." He stood. "Fine. You want me to come back, I'll come back."

"You ain't gotta."

"I got nowhere else to go, Charles, I might as well. Hell, maybe Dutch'll do me a favor and shoot me."

"Wyatt, are... are you sure you don't wanna talk about whatever-"

"I'm sure. Can we just go?"

Wyatt's comment hung heavy over their ride back into Lemoyne, to a rundown plantation house hidden away in the swamps. Charles was right- it wasn't much- but it was four walls and a roof. It was better than nothing. Arthur was the first to greet them, leaning against a hitching post and polishing a rifle. "Goddamn, Charles, where'd you go huntin', Timbuktu?" Then he paused when he noticed Wyatt. "... Where'd you find him?"

"Out." That was the only answer Charles gave before hitching Taima, gesturing for Wyatt to hitch up Denver beside her. "He needs a place to stay. Figured maybe Dutch wouldn't kill him if he was desperate enough for extra hands."

"... If he's lucky, he won't." Arthur shrugged the gun over his shoulder before heading toward the house. "Dutch!" he called on the way inside, "Charles is back! He brought Conaway!"

"Well." Charles chuckled a little. "Brace yourself, I guess."


	15. Let's Start Over

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wyatt's return to the gang isn't without its hiccups.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> one of three chapters i'm in the process of rewriting down!!!!! i like this iteration a lot better than the old version and i hope yall will too. hosea is a good dude wyatt just stop being a jealous FUCK

When Dutch caught sight of Wyatt, standing on the front porch of Shady Belle like he belonged there, Wyatt expected to be shoved. To be yelled at, cursed at, maybe even shot. Any of those would be a favor, but instead, Dutch looked him up and down- at his dirty clothes and hair, at his face where it was hard to tell freckles and stubble from dust and swamp mud- and solemnly asked, "Did you talk to anyone?"

Even Arthur cocked an eyebrow in surprise when Dutch didn't explode at Wyatt, who informed him that he hadn't breathed a word to anyone about anything regarding the gang. "I ain't much," he said, "But I ain't no rat." Apparently, that was all the convincing Dutch wanted or needed. He shrugged, said "Earn your keep," and vanished back into the depths of the plantation house.

The rest of the gang met him as warmly as they could, though morale seemed low. Lenny smiled, waved, brought him in for a handshake and a pat on the shoulder. Tilly, bless her soul, noted how filthy and ragged he looked and offered to wash his clothes for him, let him borrow some of the clean spares the gang had until they were dry, though Wyatt refused as politely as he could. Simon Pearson nodded and raised a bottle to him in greeting before turning back to slaving over the stew pot.

Then there was Mary-Beth. Sweet Mary-Beth, who had been one of the gang to first nurse him back to health after his little run-in with a pissed off cougar. She approached him, hugged him, then cupped his face in her hands and studied him a moment. Brushing a lock of hair from his face, she furrowed her brow and said, quietly, "You look so sad."

Being told that in plain English felt like a kick in the gut. Wyatt laughed, maybe a little bitterly, and nodded. "I kinda am, Miss Gaskill," he said, covering her hand with his own and patting it softly. "There ain't nothin' you can do about it."

"Are you-" Mary-Beth sighed, cut herself off. "... I'm sorry, Wyatt." She patted his cheeks affectionately, then withdrew her hands. "If you ever wanna talk about what's botherin' you, I'm right here. Alright?"

"'Course... thank you, Miss Gaskill."

In the following days, Wyatt slowly integrated himself back into the camp. He did chores, brushed and fed horses, hunted, brought in money and goods as often as he could. Kieran's ring, though, remained safely tucked into his satchel, its monetary value mere pennies in the face of its sentimental importance. Kieran's absence wasn't too harshly felt at first, apparently, as no one asked where the O'Driscoll boy was, something Wyatt was quite grateful for as even brushing his fingers over the ring in his satchel sent a white-hot dagger of grief through his heart. Eventually, though, people noticed. They noticed Kieran wasn't hanging off Wyatt's side, and they noticed how much more quiet and withdrawn Wyatt seemed to be after his sabbatical. No one dared ask, though, wondering but never confirming.

He heard whispers. Bill theorized that Kieran had fallen back in with another gang, Javier offered that there had been a nasty breakup, and wonderful, merciful Charles told them both to shut up and it was none of their business. No one else said a word. Not until Micah realized Kieran was missing.

"Hey, Red," he called one evening, making Wyatt wince and force himself to take a deep breath.

"Don't call me Red. What do you want, Micah?"

"Oh, nothin'. Just wonderin' where your O'Driscoll is, is all." Micah's voice was somehow a hiss and a purr, threatening and dark. Wyatt hated it. It felt like nails on a chalkboard. "Noticed he wasn't hangin' around you like a bad smell and thought it was a little strange."

Wyatt said nothing, not exactly thrilled to give Micah the time of day, let alone divulge to him that he'd been forced to mercy-kill the love of his life.

"What? You have a bad breakup? Trouble in paradise? He tie his corset a little too tight for your likin'?"

Wyatt ignored Micah as well as he could, picking at some dirt under his fingernails.

"Aww, look how sad poor Red is. Lighten the hell up. Folks break up all the damn time. You're mopin' around like a little girl lost."

Anger. Anger, rising, rising, burning hot with each word Micah fucking said, everything that came out of that disgusting mouth of his. 'O'Driscoll' this, 'turncoat' that, 'disloyal' there and 'liar' here.

It was when he called Kieran unfaithful and said if he turned on the O'Driscolls so quick, he would have dropped Wyatt like a hot potato in a heartbeat, that Wyatt snapped.

" _Shut your goddamn mouth!_ "

Micah fell silent, apparently startled by someone actually standing up to him.

"He's dead, alright?! Kieran's dead! Colm O-Fucking-Driscoll's boys caught up to him and tortured him, but they didn't have the fucking balls to kill him themselves! _No, they left that to ME!_ " He didn't notice tears were burning in his eyes until they fell down his cheeks. They almost hurt. "I had to kill the one person I knew I could fuckin' trust, because the cowards that hurt him didn't have the fuckin' mercy in their hearts to do it!"

Heavy silence outside of the song of bugs and birds, and Wyatt swallowed hard around the lump in his throat. "Fuck you, Micah," he managed, before vanishing into the house and retreating to the most private room he could find to cry, tucked away beneath the stairs where no one would bother him. He desperately longed to have Kieran in his arms again, wanted absolutely nothing more than to look into those beautiful storm-cloud-grey eyes and kiss him, tell him how much he loved him to his face and not just to a ring.

He wasn't sure how long he'd been hidden away in that room when the door opened, startling him. He felt like he could burst into tears anew when he saw Hosea of all fucking people, scratching his head and looking tired and baffled. "Um... what're you doing in here?" he asked, confused more than anything, and Wyatt started connecting the dots. The books, the pictures, the cot. This was Hosea's personal room.

"I'm sorry," he said, standing and wiping his eyes maybe a bit too harshly. "I-I just-"

"Hey. I'm not mad." Hosea nodded to the cot. "Sit. You're crying. You need to talk?"

As much as he wanted to say he was fine, Wyatt's body responded automatically, and he sat on the cot. "M'sorry. I didn't realize this was your-"

"It's fine. I just come in here to get some peace and quiet so I can read or nap." Hosea sat down beside him. "What happened?"

"Fucking Micah."

"Mmhm. Not surprised there. I don't know why Dutch keeps him around... there's just something that ain't right about him. It's his eyes. They're... wild. Like he's just barely holdin' back somethin' awful." Hosea was quiet for a moment. "What'd he do?"

Wyatt wasn't sure he could talk about it without crying. He took a long, shaky breath, looked up at Hosea, and whispered, "He kept asking me about..." The name caught in his throat like bile, saying it enough to force a sob out of him. "About Kieran."

"I was wondering where he was..."

"... Dead." Wyatt choked on a sob, shuddering. "I..."

"Oh, god. That's... I'm so sorry."

"... I had to pull the trigger, Hosea," Wyatt whispered. "The O'Driscolls... they did some godawful shit to him. Beat him. Burned him. Cut fingers off. Knocked his teeth out... he was missin' an eye. They gouged one of his fuckin' eyes out... but they didn't kill him. H-he begged me to do it." He sobbed, closing his eyes and trying desperately to get the image of Kieran's burned, beaten, naked body out of his head. It wouldn't go away. The memory of the man he loved sobbing on the ground and begging Wyatt himself to provide him with the small mercy of death was forever seared into his brain.

"Wyatt..."

"I was teachin' him to read... he was doin' such a good job. He could write his name, my name. He left me a note that just said 'I love you' one day because he was proud that he learned how to spell 'love' right. He could read simple books..." A hiccuped sob. "And I spent too long buyin' him new books one day, and... he was gone. I-it was my fault. If I'd been there..."

"You didn't know. You couldn't have." Hosea put a gentle hand on Wyatt's shoulder, rubbing gentle circles there. "Here... gimme your hand." He gently took Wyatt's hand, untangling it from his hair and squeezing it. "Focus on me. Follow me. Breathe in..." Deep inhale. "And out." Equally deep exhale. Wyatt followed what he did, focused on the feeling of Hosea's hand on his squeezing gently.

"How...?" he asked as he felt his breathing return to a more normal pace and his tremors calm. "H-how'd you know-"

"Dutch has episodes like that, sometimes. I've been helpin' him through 'em for years." Hosea didn't quite let go of Wyatt's hand, instead inspecting the ring on his finger. "Nice ring. Where'd you get it?"

"..."

"Mmm. Kieran gave it to you, didn't he?"

"... Yeah."

"Is it an engagement ring?"

"Mmhm. I... I got him one, too..." Wyatt took a couple of the deep breaths Hosea had coached him through. "They... they cut off his left ring finger. I got the ring off it and kept it... s'in my bag."

Hosea looked pensive, then Wyatt swore he saw an idea come to him. "Can I see it, really quick?"

"No!" Wyatt immediately snapped, grabbing his satchel and pulling it in close. Hosea held his hands up in surrender. "Y-you can't- you can't take it!"

"I'm not gonna take it. I have an idea." Hosea smiled, reassuringly. "Just trust me. This won't take me long."

Wyatt scanned his face and body for any indication that he was lying. Seeing and sensing none, he hesitantly fished in his bag before handing over Kieran's ring. Hosea inspected it for a moment, turning it over in his hand, then stood and opened a drawer. Inside were a surprising amount of sewing supplies- needles, thread, string, scraps of fabric and satin- and withdrew a buckskin string. He threaded it through the ring, the stones pointing downward, and turned to Wyatt. "Do you want your ring on here, or just his?"

"... What?"

"It's a necklace," Hosea said as he wrapped the string around Wyatt's neck, measuring where the ring would sit. "So you don't have to worry about it falling out of your bag, and... well, literally, so it's close to your heart."

Wyatt wasn't sure what to say to that, moved by the gesture. He opened and closed his mouth like a fish on land for a moment, before managing, "J-just his is fine."

The simple necklace felt right around his neck, settling the ring to hang right at his breastbone. He gripped it in one hand, looked up at Hosea, and managed a weak 'thank you' before he had to wipe away tears again. "Why are you helping me?" he asked, shivering with uncried sobs. "I-I'm your husband's ex. I thought you hated me."

"I don't hate you... fact, I can't imagine what you're goin' through right now. Losing Dutch is... well, one of my worst nightmares." Hosea smiled sadly, but sympathetically. "If you ever need to talk, my door's open."

"... Thank you." Still clutching the ring to his chest, Wyatt stood on shaky legs. "I-I'm sorry about how we-"

"The past is in the past, Mr. Conaway. Let's start over. For our sakes, if nothin' else."

"... Alright."


End file.
